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THE     CHURCHMAN'S 
TREASURY   OF   SONG 


THE    CHURCHMAN'S 
TREASURY  OF  SONG 

GATHERED  FROM  THE  CHRISTIAN 
POETRY  OF  ALL  AGES 

JOHN    HENRY    BURN 

B.D.,  F.R.S.E. 


NEW  YORK 

E.  P.  BUTTON  AND  COMPANY 

31  West  Twenty-third  Street 

1907 


PREFACE 

IT  has  fallen  to  my  lot,  during  the  last  decade,  to 
usher  into  the  world  a  considerable  number  of 
books  on  various  subjects.  Throughout  the  whole 
of  that  period,  the  volume  which  I  now  commit  to 
the  press  has  been  in  my  mind,  and  scarcely  a 
month  has  passed  without  some  thought  being 
bestowed  on  its  contents. 

I  have  aimed  at  producing  a  book  which  may 
be  acceptable  to  Church-people  of  all  shades  of 
opinion.  The  longer  I  live,  the  more  trivial  do 
those  party-cries  appear,  which  seem  to  some  to 
be  of  such  moment  that  they  can  scarcely  recog- 
nize as  brethren  those  who  do  not  utter  their  own 
particular  shibboleth.  It  is  my  profound  convic- 
tion that  the  time  has  come  for  insisting,  above  all 
things,  upon  the  secondary  importance  of  all  ques- 
tions which  lie  outside  the  scope  of  the  Catholic 
Creeds.  Truth  is  so  many-sided  that  no  man 
living  has  sufficient  intellectual  power  to  grasp 
more  than  a  tiny  fragment  of  it;  yet  its  essence, 
thank  God,  is  of  such  a  nature,  that  no  man  who 
is  really  in  earnest  need  despair  of  being  able  to 
comprehend  all  that  is  necessary  for  keeping  his 
soul  in  the  "  state  of  salvation  " — that  is,  in  a  sound 
and  healthy  condition. 

Much  may  be  done,  in  the  way  of  widening 

and  deepening  one's  theological  conceptions,  by 

cultivating  the  poetic  faculty.     The  poets  are,  in 

fact,  the  greatest  interpreters  of  Christianity,  which 

b 


vi     CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

is  a  religion  of  the  emotions  even  more  than  of 
the  intellect.  One  of  the  most  serious  mistakes 
made  at  what  is  called  "  the  Reformation,"  was 
that  of  appealing  to  the  intellect  rather  than  the 
emotions,  and  so  reversing  the  proper  order  of 
things.  From  this  fundamental  error  untold  mis- 
chief has  ensued,  and  the  Church  must  continue 
to  suffer  and  be  crippled  in  her  resources  so  long 
as  she  submits  to  the  domination  of  the  head  over 
the  heart.  I  yield  to  none  in  my  love  of  learning, 
but  wisdom  is  better  than  knowledge,  and  wisdom 
can  only  be  acquired  by  the  education  of  one's 
whole  being — by  the  training  of  the  spirit  as  well 
as  the  furnishing  of  the  mind.  If  this  little  book 
should  be  the  means  of  helping  some  one,  here 
and  there,  to  see  further  into  the  deep  things  of 
God,  and,  as  a  consequence,  to  look  with  a  more 
tolerant  eye  on  those  whose  angle  of  vision  is  in 
some  or  even  in  many  respects  different  from  his 
own,  I  should  feel  abundantly  recompensed  for 
the  time  and  labour  spent  on  its  compilation. 

It  only  remains  for  me  to  tender  my  cordial 
thanks  to  authors  and  publishers  who  have  kindly 
allowed  me  to  enrich  these  pages  with  copyright 
poems  ;  and,  in  this  connexion,  I  desire  to  mention 
with  particular  gratitude  the  great  help  derived 
from  "The  Church's  Year,"  by  the  Rev.  G.  T.  S. 
Farquhar,  M.A.,  Canon  and  Precentor  of  Perth 
Cathedral. 

J.   H.  B. 

Ballater  Parsonage 
Aberdeenshire 


LIST  OF  AUTHORS  AND 
POEMS 


Adams,  Sarah  F.  page 

0  hallowed  memories  of  the  past    ....  i86 

Aid6,  Hamilton 

1  lately  talked  with  one  who  strove          .         .         .  217 

Alexander,  Cecil  Frances 

Blessed  were  they  who,  in  the  days  of  old        .         ,  398 

Come  to  our  joyous  marriage  feast ....  53 

He  is  risen,  He  is  risen    ......  153 

If  hasty  hand  or  bitter  tongue          ....  132 

Jerusalem,  why  are  thy  voices  dumb        .         .         .  400 

The  flower  that  in  the  lowly  vale     ....  60 

There  are  no  little  things  on  earth  ....  250 

There's  many  a  happy  household  band   .         .         .  417 

The  sunset  falls  on  Isaac's  tent        ....  120 

The  waving  fields  of  yellow  corn      ....  74 

The  wise  men  to  Thy  cradle-throne          ...  44 

Through  many  a  far  and  foreign  land     .                  .  176 

We  seek  a  land  of  more  delight       ....  276 

We  see  the  leaves  fall  withered  from  the  trees          .  80 

We  walk  amid  a  world  of  beauteous  things     .         .  320 

Alexander,  William  (Earl  of  Stirling) 

The  stately  heavens,  which  glory  doth  aiTay  .         .  91 

Alford,  Henry 

I  saw  two  women  weeping  by  the  tomb  .         .        .  151 

Lift  high  the  song  of  praise 415 

Barbauld,  Anna  Letitia 

Life  !  I  know  not  what  thou  art       ....  59 

Barton,  Bernard 

I  walked  the  fields  at  morning's  prime    .         .         .  267 

Woman  of  pure  and  heaven-born  fame  .        .         .  298 

Baynes,  Robert  Hall 

How  long  and  deep  the  shadows  of  our  LenL          .  ,.  i^o 


vn 


viii   CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

PAGE 

Beaumont,  Sir  John 

Sweet  hope  is  soveraigne  comfort  of  our  life    .         .  3x5 

Bethune,  George  W. 

0  blessed  Jesus  !  when  I  see  Thee  bending     .         .  148 

Blackburne,  Thomas 

Awake,  thou  wintry  earth 154 

Blenkinsopp,  Edwin  L.  ~ 

The  Tree  of  Life  in  Eden  stood       ....  96 

Blew,  W.  J. 

All  hail,  thou  night,  than  day  more  bright       .         .  30 

Bonar,  Horatius 

Autumn  has  come  at  last 309 

1  ask  a  perfect  creed 52 

I  walk  as  one  who  knows  that  he  is  treading  .         .  261 

Light  of  the  better  morning     .         .         .         .         .  164 

Show  me  the  tears,  the  tears  of  tender  love     .         .  285 

Sorrow  weeps  ........  143 

Sower  Divine 289 

The  world  is  sick,  and  yet  not  unto  death                .  18 

'Tis  first  the  true  and  then  the  beautiful .         .         .  255 

WTiat  a  world  with  all  its  sorrows   ....  202 

BoRTHWicK,  Jane 

Breezes  of  spring,  all  earth  to  life  awaking      .         .  193 

Give  us  Thy  blessed  peace,  God  of  all  might  .         .  365 

He  leads  us  on         ......         .  76 

How  blessed,  from  the  bonds  of  sin         .         .         .  411 

_  How  long,  O  Lord,  in  weariness  and  sorrow  .         .  3 

'Jesus,  still  lead  on 136 

Oh  sweetest  words  that  Jesus  could  have  spoke       .  326 

The  Lord  shall  come  in  dead  of  night     ...  27 

BowRiNG,  Sir  John 

Carry  me,  Babe,  to  Bethlehem  now         ...  37 

In  the  Apocalypse  sublime 370 

Spring  is  but  another  birth 163 

Brevior,  Thomas 

All  things  a  prophecy  contain          ....  257 

Bronte,  Charlotte 

Life,  believe,  is  not  a  dream 265 

Brown,  Tom  L. 

Oh,  bright  and  happy  Olivet 373 

Browne,  Simon 

Come,  Holy  Spirit,  heav'nly  Dove  ....  301 


LIST  OF  AUTHORS  AND  POEMS       ix 


Browning,  Elizabeth  Barrett 
Since  without  Thee  we  do  no  good 

Bryant,  William  Cullen 

All  things  that  are  on  earth  shall  wholly  pass  away 
Oh,  deem  not  they  are  blest  alone  . 

Burns,  James  Drummond 

Hushed  was  the  evening  hymn 

Campbell,  Thomas 

The  more  we  live,  more  brief  appear 
When  Jordan  hushed  his  waters  still 

Carey,  Patrick 

Open  thyself,  and  then  look  in         .         ,         . 

Carpenter,  William  Boyd 

Christ,  Who  our  weak  flesh  didst  wear   . 

Caswall,  Edward 

Oh,  weak  are  my  best  thoughts  and  poor 

Sleep,  Holy  Babe 

Why  should  we  vex  our  foolish  minds 

Charles,  Elizabeth  Rundle 

Is  thy  cruse  of  comfort  wasting  ?  haste  its  scanty 

drops  to  share 

Thou  art  the  Way 

What,  what  is  tried  in  the  fires  of  God    . 
When  scorn,  and  hate,  and  bitter  envious  pride 

Charlton,  William  Henry 

Say,  from  what  unknown  source,  mysterious  Nile 

Chatterton,  Thomas 

O  God,  Whose  thunder  shakes  the  sky    . 

Chester,  Greville  J. 

In  thorny  thickets  below  the  sweetest  roses 

Christian  Lyrics 

Count  not  the  days  that  have  idly  flown  , 

Clinch,  Joseph  H. 

Thousands  completely  fed       .... 

Clough,  Arthur  Hugh 

O  only  source  of  all  our  light  and  life 
Coleridge,  Samuel  Taylor 

My  Maker  !  of  Thy  power  the  trace 
Conder,  Josiah 

How  shall  I  follow  Him  I  serve 

Oh,  give  thanks  to  Him  that  made 

Oh  show  me  not  my  Saviour  dying  . 


PAGE 
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23s 

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36 

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178 

40 

316 

284 

405 

21 

149 

72 

372 

256 

6 

264 

282^ 

302 

123 

63 

194 


X     CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 


CowPER,  William 

All  flesh  is  grass,  and  all  its  glory  fades  .        .         176 

God  never  meant  that  man  should  scale  the  heavens        292 

It  happened  on  a  solemn  eventide   . 

Now  theirs  was  converse  such  as  it  behoves     . 

When  darkness  long  has  veil'd  my  mind 

CoxE,  Arthur  Cleveland 

Saviour,  sprinkle  many  nations 
See  how  yon  little  lark  is  borne 
Who  is  this,  with  garments  gory     . 

Craik,  D.  M.  Muloch 

Silence  !  though  the  flames  arise  and  quiver    . 

Crashaw,  Richard 

Mercy,  my  Judge,  mercy,  I  cry 

Crew^dson,  Jane 

Oh  for  the  peace  which  floweth  as  a  river 

Croly,  George 

Spirit  of  God  !  descend  upon  my  heart   . 

Dale,  Thomas 

The  voice  of  God  was  mighty  when  it  brake    . 

Dana,  Richard  Henry 

Tho'  nothing  once,  and  born  but  yesterday 

Davies,  Sir  John 

And  though  some  impious  wits  do  questions  move 

Deck,  J.  G. 

Jesus,  we  rest  in  Thee 

De  Vere,  Sir  Aubrey 

Three  worlds  there  are    . 

Dix,  William  Chatterton 

Lead  us  aside,  we  would  not  ever  stay 
Rahel  weeping  for  her  children 

Doane,  George  Washington 

Fling  out  the  banner  !  let  it  float     . 

Drummond,  William  Hamilton 

Come  let  us  sound  her  praise  abroad 

Drury,  Anna  H. 

He  grew  in  wisdom  .... 
What  earth  appeared  to  angel  eyes 

Dryden, John 

Creator  Spirit,  by  Whose  aid 205 


LIST  OF  AUTHORS  AND  POEMS  xi 

PAGE 

Edmeston,  James 

Swords  of  fire  around  us  play 305 

Elliott,  Charlotte 

O  Thou,  the  contrite  sinner's  Friend        .        .        .  288 

Emmet,  John 

We  cannot  stay,  said  the  winter  stars      .         .        .  268 

Faber,  Frederick  William 

AL  !  dearest  Lord,  I  cannot  pray     ....  300 

Faith  of  our  fathers  !  living  still       ....  214 

Mother  !  with  us  the  Lord  doth  bide       .         .         .  191 

Now  are  the  days  of  humblest  prayer      .         .         .  108 

The  days  of  old  were  days  of  might          ...  20 

There  is  a  Sabbath  won  for  us         .         .         .         .  360 

To  be  thought  ill  of,  worse  than  we  deserve    .         .  252 

Workman  of  God  !  oh  lose  not  heart       .         .         .  231 

Farquhar,  George  Taylor  Shillito 

Behold  the  Sun  from  eastern  gloom  arise         .         .  357 

For  message  of  the  Written  Word            ...  49 

How  many  a  Grecian  youth  of  old   ....  25 

Jairus  knew  it  now   .......  382 

Lo,  Gabriel,  leaving  the  bright  realms  on  high        .  402 

"  Look,  Master  !     See  yon  chariot  all  on  fire           .  197 

Lord,  through  infirmity,  which  lay  outspread           ,  311 

Not  as  a  fallen  stone        .         .         .         .        .         .  166 

0  worshipper,  who  at  the  break  of  morn  .  .  106 
September's  woods  are  clothed  in  darker  green  .  328 
Skirting  the  azure  of  the  summer  sky        .         ,         .  228 

Spirit,  exiled  long  from  earth 212 

What  mighty  name  did  the  whole  earth  adore          .  415 

Wide  the  compass  of  the  world        ....  219 

Farrar,  Frederick  William 

On  the  Cross  we  saw  Him  dying      ....  157 

Fellon,  John  Brooks 

Sent  from  the  ark,  the  dove,  with  timid  flight           .  97 

FisK,  George 

Their  bark  is  smoothly  gliding  o'er  the  sea      .         ."  7 

Fletcher,  John  William 

Time  is  a  prince  whose  resistless  sway     ...  65 

Ford,  Charles  Lawrence 

1  heard  the  voice  of  harpers,  harping  sweetly  .  100 
We  all  are  in  one  school 226 

FosBERY,  Thomas  Vincent 

Swift  o'er  the  desert  plains  the  wild  wind  sweeps    .  84 


xii  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 


Grahame,  James 

O  Nature  !  all  thy  seasons  please  the  eye         .         .         266 
Sore  was  the  famine  throughout  all  the  bounds        .         293 

Greg,  Samuel 

"  Stay,  Master,  stay  upon  this  heavenly  hill    .         .         281 

Greville,  Fulke  (Lord  Brooke) 

Eternal  Truth,  almighty,  infinite     ....  78 

Grinfield,  Thomas 

When  man  to  Godlike  being  sprung        .         .        .         386 

Gurney,  Archer 

Come,  ye  lofty  !  come,  ye  lowly       ....  30 

Evermore  their  lands  the  Angel  hosts  are  singing     .         230 

Hall,  Joseph 

Lord,  what  am  I?    A  worm,  dust,  vapour,  nothing        313 

Hart,  Josiah 

Gird  thy  loins  up.  Christian  soldier  .         .  361 

Harvey,  Christopher 

Love  hath  taught  me  to  obey  ....         270 

Hastings,  Lady  Flora 

In  every  place,  in  every  hour   .....         310 

Havergal,  William  Henry 

Widely  midst  the  slumbering  nations       .         .         .         342 

Heber,  Reginald 

"  Who  yonder  on  the  desert  heath  .         .  306 

Hemans,  Felicia 

O  Thou  !  the  Unseen,  the  All-seeing        ...  68 

Herbert,  George 

As  men,  for  fear  the  stars  should  sleep  and  nod       .  358 
How  should  I  praise  Thee,  Lord  !  how  should  my 

rhymes 376 

If  as  a  flower  doth  spread  and  die   .          ...  82 

Lord,  Thou  art  mine,  and  I  am  Thine     .         .  364 

Of  what  an  easy  quick  access    .....  70 

Oh  Book  !  infinite  sweetness  !  let  my  heart      .  9 

O  Sacred  Providence,  Who  from  end  to  end     .         .  385 
Teach  me,  my  God  and  King           .         .         .         .271 

Welcome,  dear  feast  of  Lent    .....  104 

When  God  at  first  made  man           ....  78 

Herrick,  Robert 

Is  this  a  fast,  to  keep 129 

Hopkins,  T.  Marsland 

And  is  it  so  that  Nature  stints  her  praise  .         .         314 

From  out  all  Nature  is  one  common  voice       .         .  88 


LIST  OF  AUTHORS  AND  POEMS    xiii 


How,  William  Walsham 

The  Poet. scanned  with  mighty  awe 

HovviTT,  Mary 

God  might  have  made  the  earth  bring  forth 
HuRK,  William 

There  is  a  River,  deep  and  broad     . 

Irons,  William  Josiah 

' '  He  loved  His  own  unto  the  end    . 

Jackson,  E.  D. 

Charming  flowers  !  your  day  is  come 

Johnson,  Samuel 

The  Will  Divine  that  woke  a  waiting  time 
Where  then  shall  hope  and  fear  their  objects  find 

JONSON,  Ben 

Good  and  great  God  !     Can  I  not  think  of  Thee 
Heare  me,  O  God    ...... 


Keble,  John 

As  hart  pants  high  for  gashing  rills 
Fear  not,  for  He  hath  sworn    , 
Judge  me,  and  plead  my  cause,  O  God 
Mercy  and  Truth  my  song  would  be 
My  heart  was  glad  to  hear  their  call 
Nay,  but  these  are  breezes  bright    . 
O  Lord,  our  Lord,  in  all  the  earth  . 
Spirit  of  Christ !  Thy  grace  be  given 
Therefore  to  Thee  I  musing  turn 
When  is  Communion  nearest  . 


Ken,  Thomas 

My  God,  to  keep  my  heart 

Soul,  when  your  flesh  dissolves  to  dust 

Kinloch,  Lord 

Christ  had  two  several  wrongs  to  bear 

Clearly  I  see 

Fall  not  out  upon  the  way 

I  hold  a  joy,  with  which  I  feel 

I  sought  for  Wisdom  in  the  morning  time 

It  is  not  Heaven  alone 

Throw  wide  the  gate,  my  heart 

'Tis  not  the  temple's  shrine 

'Tis  not  the  whirlwind  o'er  our  fair  fields 

To  Thy  temple,  Lord,  or  table 

View  not  forms  with  heedless  scorn 

Watchman,  what  of  the  night 

Why  art  Thou  not,  O  Saviour,  here 


sweepmg 


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xiv   CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 


Knollis,  F.  M. 

There  is  no  night  in  Heaven 413 

Kynaston,  Herbert 

Spirit,  soul  and  body's  union 215 

Leeson,  Jane  E. 

Yea,  watch  and  wait  a  little  while    ....  393 

Longfellow,  Henry  Wadsworth 

I  like  that  ancient  Saxon  phrase      ....  79 

Longfellow,  Samuel 

Holy  Spirit,  Truth  Divine 208 

Lynch,  Thomas  Toke 

Gracious  Spirit,  dwell  with  me         ....  207 

How  often  on  a  morning  bright       ....  77 

In  silence  mighty  things  are  wrought       .         .         .  273 

Irresolute,  I  stand  perplext 54 

Look  up  ;  the  rainy  heaven?  withdraw    .         .         .  181 

Not  far  from  surf  and  wave 67 

Oft  when  of  God  we  ask 234 

Oh,  were  I  ever  what  I  arn  sometimes     .         .         .  366 

The  Pharisee  informed  the  Lord      ....  291 

The  sufferer  had  been  heard  to  say          ...  61 

What  tears  are  these  that  flow  so  fast      .         .         .  409 

Lyra  Apostolica 

Wherefore  shrink,  and  say,  " 'Tis  vain    .         ,         .  391 

Lyra  Germanica 

Most  High  and  Holy  Trinity 213 

Now  take  my  heart  and  all  that  is  in  me          .         .  50 

What  had  I  been  if  Thou  wert  not  ....  355 

Ye  heavens,  oh  haste  your  dews  to  shed  .         .         .  390 

Lyte,  Henry  Francis 

Dark  was  my  lot,  and  long  it  spurned     .         .         .  240 

Macduff,  John  Ross 

Christ  is  coming  !  let  creation          ....  26 

Mackay,  Charles 

O  Piety  !  O  heavenly  Piety 344 

Mant,  Richard 

Hark  !  through  the  lonely  waste      ....  16 

"  Night  flies  before  the  orient  morning    ...  48 

There  is  a  dwelling-place  above       ....  286 

Matson,  W.  F. 

Though  clouds  be  dark 126 


LIST  OF  AUTHORS  AND  POEMS      xv 


Milton,  John 

Blest  pair  of  sirens,  pledges  of  Heaven's  joy    .         .  356 

This  is  true  glory  and  renown,  when  God        .         .  262 

Ye  flaming  Powers,  and  winged  warriors  bright       .  41 

MoNSELL,  John  S.  B. 

Awake,  glad  soul !  awake  !  awake  ....  152 

Erst  in  Eden's  happy  garden  .....  94 

God  bless  the  calm  and  holy  cheer  ....  i 

"  God  is  Love,"  the  Heavens  tell  it          .         .         .  220 

Hours,  and  days,  and  months,  and  years         .         .  42 

Jesus !  gentle  Sufferer,  say 150 

Jesus  !  my  loving  Lord,  I  know       ....  140 

Lord  !  how  oft  shall  I  forgive 369 

So  Matthew  left  his  golden  gains     .         .         •         .  412 

This  day  the  Church  commemorates       .         .         .  407 

Montgomery,  James 

Night  turns  to  day  when  sullen  darkness  lowers      .  350 

The  God  of  Nature  and  of  Grace    ....  86 

Montgomery,  Robert 

Priests  of  the  Lord — let  Judas  warn  them  well         .  401 

Saint  James  was  in  the  path  of  toil  ....  410 

The  glorious  Sun  no  man  can  see    .         .         .         .  11 

Thy  ways,  O  Lord,  are  unlike  ours ....  359 

What  men  call  Nature  is  a  Thought  Divine     .  87 

Ye  quenchless  stars !  so  eloquently  bright                 .  92 

Moore,  Thomas 

Oh  !  Thou  that  driest  the  mourner's  tear          .         .  362 

The  turf  shall  be  my  fragrant  shrine        ...  89 

More,  Hannah 

Since  trifles  make  the  sum  of  human  things     .         .  334 

Moultrie,  John 

Meek  to  suffer,  strong  to  save          ....  404 

Muhlenberg,  William  Augustus 

King  of  kings,  and  wilt  Thou  deign         .         .         .  196 

Since  o'er  Thy  footstool  here  below         ...  90 

Nevin,  Edwin  H. 

O  Heaven  !  Sweet  Heaven  !  the  home  of  the  blest  .  173 

Newman,  John  Henry 

When  Royal  Truth,  released  from  mortal  throes     .  160 

Newton,  John 

If  Solomon  for  wisdom  prayed         ....  272 

My  soul  once  had  its  plenteous  years       ,         .         .  131 


xvi   CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

PAGE 

Noel,  C.  M. 

All  around  the  rolling  world,  both  night  and  day    .  i88 

When  evening  clouds  hang  clustering  round  the  sun  8 

NoRRis,  Alfred 

I  would  not  ask  Thee  that  my  days         .         .        .  275  . 

NoRRis,  John 

How  long,  great  God,  how  long  must  I  .         .         .  118 

Long  have  I  view'd,  long  have  I  thought         .         .  280 

Palmer,  Ebenezer 

If  we  scan 346 

Like  Israel's  king,  oft  have  I  too  received        .         ,  319 

'Neath  the  full  beamings  of  an  orient  sky,        .         .  317 

Palmer,  Ray 

Jesus,  these  eyes  have  never  seen     .        .        .        .  139 

Parnell,  Thomas 

One  in  one  hundred  lost !  and  ninety-nine       .         .  239 

Peat.  John 

How  beautiful  is  Truth  !  she  wins  her  way      .         .  246 

PoLLOK,  Robert 

"  Love  God,  love  truth,  love  virtue,  and  be  happy,"  348 

This  Book,  this  holy  Book — on  every  line        .         .  10 

Pope,  Alexander 

Heaven  from  all  creatures  hides  the  book  of  fate     .  254 

Procter,  Adelaide  Anne 

Do  not  cheat  thy  Heart  and  tell  her         .         .        .  180 

Fret  not,  poor  soul  , 66 

I  think  if  thou  couldst  know    .....  69 

Judge  not ;  the  workings  of  his  brain       ...  19 

Let  me  count  my  treasures 259 

Let  thy  gold  be  cast  in  the  furnace  .         .         .         .  218 

My  God,  I  thank  Thee,  Who  hast  made         .         .  165 

Nothing  resting  in  its  own  completeness          .         .  174 

One  by  one  the  sands  are  flowing    ....  248 

See  the  rivers  flowing 263 

Strive  ;  yet  I  do  not  promise 242 

"  What  is  Life,  Father  ?  " 14 

Pyper,  Mary 

Not  as  He  was,  a  houseless  stranger        ...  85 

Quarles,  Francis 

Alas  !  my  torments  ;  my  distracted  fears         .         .  330 

My  soul  is  like  a  bird,  my  flesh  the  cage  *        .         .  93 

The  world's  a  floor,  whose  swelling  heaps  retain     .  184 

True  honour  bides  at  home,  and  takes  delight          .  303 

What  joyful  harvester  did  ere  obtain        .         .         .  224 


LIST  OF  AUTHORS  AND  POEMS    xvii 


PAGE 

Reed,  Andrew 

Spirit  Divine  !  attend  our  prayers    ....         378 

Robert  Second,  King  of  France 

Holy  Spirit,  come,  we  pray 210 

Robinson,  E. 

One  baptism,  and  one  faith     .....         332 

ROSENROTH,  K.  von 

Dayspring  of  Eternity      ......  S 

RossE,  Alexander 

The  pilot's  skill  how  can  we  know  .         .        .         .        118 

RossETTi,  Christina  Georgina 

I  bore  with  thee  long  weary  days  and  nights  .        .         137 

Russell,  Alexander  Tozer 

To  Him  Who  for  our  sins  was  slain         .         .         .         156 

Scott,  Sir  Walter 

When  Israel,  of  the  Lord  beloved    ....        167 

Sears,  Edmund  Hamilton 

It  came  upon  the  midnight  clear      ....  39 

O  bright  Ideals,  how  yeshine  ....         225 

Sewell,  William 

We  do  not  dread  the  darkest  night  .        .        .        381 

Sigourney,  Lydia  Huntley 

Man  hath  a  voice  severe 245 

Watcher,  who  watch'st  by  the  bed  of  pain       .        .        392 

Smith,  Gilbert  N. 

Source  of  my  life !  to  Thee  my  grateful  soul    .        .        172 

Southern,  Philip 

"  Go  thou  thy  way  !  "    It  is  thy  Lord  WTio  speaks  .        368 

Southwell,  Robert 

The  lopped  tree  in  time  may  grow  again         .         .  75 

Stanley,  Arthur  Penrhyn 

Come,  Holy  Spirit,  from  above  ....  204 
He  is  gone — we  heard  Him  say        ....        195 

Steele,  Anne 

Oh  !  help  me.  Lord,  to  seek  Thy  face     ...        232 

Sterling,  John 

When  up  to  nightly  skies  we  gaze   ....  8i 

Streatfeild,  John 

Arise,  my  soul,  the  morning  sun  ....  337 
"  God  is  my  strength  !  "  Be  this  my  shield  .  .  229 
Lord,  canst  Thou  condescend  indeed  to  dwell         .        345 


xviii  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 


SuRR,  Elizabeth 

The  blue  Egean's  countless  waves  in  Sabbath  sun- 
light smiled .  33 

SwAix,  Charles 

If  thou  hast  lost  a  friend 258 

Taylor,  Jeremy 

Lord  !  come  away  ! 24 

Tennyson,  Alfred,  Lord 

Contemplate  all  this  work  of  Time  ....  374 

Oh  yet  we  trust  that  somehow  good         .         .         .  395 

Strong  Son  of  God,  immortal  Love         .         .         .  363 

That  which  we  dare  invoke  to  bless          .         .         .  367 

The  wish,  that  of  the  living  whole  ....  396 

Who  loves  not  knowledge  ?    Who  shall  rail     .         .  384 

You  say,  but  with  no  touch  of  scorn        ,         .         .  377 

TOMKINS,  H.  G. 

When  across  the  inward  thought     ....  375 

Work  while  it  is  called  to-day 335 

Tonna,  Charlotte  Elizabeth 

Soldier,  go — but  not  to  claim 354 

Tregelles,  Samuel  Prideaux 

Thou,  Lord  of  all,  on  earth  hast  dwelt    .         .         .  138 

Trench,  Richard  Chenevix 

Fond  heart,  when  learn  est  thou  to  say    .        .         .  260 

I  say  to  thee,  do  thou  repeat 341 

O  blessing,  wearing  semblance  of  a  curse        .         .  95 

This  did  not  once  so  trouble  me       .         .         .         .  274 

When  prayer  delights  thee  least,  then  learn  to  say  .  190 

TuppER,  Martin  Farquhar 

The  waves,  the  winds  of  Circumstance    .        .         .  389 

TussER,  Thomas 

Of  God,  to  thy  doings,  a  time  there  is  sent      .         .  394 

To  pray  to  God  continually 281 

Unknown 

An  earnest,  ardent  will  for  good      ....  333 

As  one  who,  toiling  up  some  lofty  peak  .         .         .  131 

Be  thou  content 73 

Boast  of  thine  honours,  wealth,  and  power               .  113 

Christian,  did  no  one,  thinkest  thou,  behold  thee    .  294 

Fire  is  not  quench'd  with  fire 62 

God  doth  not  leave  His  own    .....  loi 

Happy  is  he  who  at  each  gift  of  grace     .         .         .  312 

"  Have  mercy  on  me,  Lord  !  "          ....  117 

Here  must  the  Christian  onward  press    .         .         .  133 


LIST  OF  AUTHORS  AND  POEMS     xix 


PAGE 

His  eye  toward  the  promised  land   ....  20x 

In  the  wound  of  Thy  Right  Hand   ....  146 

I  stood  and  watched  my  ships  go  out      .         .         .  349 

It  is  not  heavy,  agonizing  woe          ....  109 

Man  is  a  busy  thing,  and  he 107 

Not  ashes  on  the  head     .         .         .         .         .         .  113 

Not  here,  not  here  :  not  where  the  sparkUng  waters  241 

Nought  see  we  here  as  yet  in  full  perfection     .         .  99 

Rise  !  for  the  day  is  passing 351 

See  what  unbounded  zeal  and  love  ....  144 

Still  evermore  for  some  great  strength  we  pray  .  275 
There  are  some  hearts  like  wells,  green-mossed  and 

deep 336 

Though  I  am  slow  to  trust  Thee,  Lord  ,         .         .  247 

Thy  neighbour?  it  is  he  whom  thou         .         .         .  304 

"Tired"!    Well,  what  of  that         ....  187 

Unanswered  yet,  the  prayer  your  lips  have  pleaded  192 

What  and  if  the  Day  is  breaking     ....  4 

What  though  we  bear  a  heavy  load  .  .  .  119 
Why  throbs  this  breast  ?    Why  heave  these  piteous 

sighs 279 

Yet  if  his  majesty  our  sovereign  lord        ...  29 

Vaughan,  Henry 

Ah,  what  time  wilt  thou  come          ....  23 

As  travellers,  when  the  twilight's  come   .         .         .  127 

Lord,  with  what  courage  and  delight      .         .         .  162 

Still  young  and  fine  !  but  what  is  still  in  view          .  102 

Then  give  Thy  saints 318 

They  are  all  gone  into  the  world  of  light          .        .  343 

Weighing  the  steadfastness  and  state      .         .         .  321 

When  first  thine  eyes  unveil,  give  thy  soul  leave     .  112 

Veitch,  Sophie  F.  F. 

"  Get  thee  hence.  Satan  !  " in 


Waller,  Edmund 

That  early  love  of  creatures,  yet  unmade         .         .         379 

Watts,  Isaac 

Up  to  the  hills  I  lift  mine  eyes         ....        134 

Weld,  H.  Hastings 

Eternal  Father  !  God  of  peace         ....        329 

Wesley,  Charles 

A  thousand  oracles  divine 388 

Whitefield,  George 

Shall  I,  for  fear  of  feeble  man  ....        209 


XX     CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 


Whittier,  John  Greenleaf 

God  called  the  nearest  Angels,  who  dwell  with  Him 

above        

Immortal  Love,  for  ever  full    .... 
Know  well,  my  soul,  God's  hand  controls 
To  weary  hearts,  to  mourning  homes 

Williams,  Isaac 

Away  with  sorrow's  sigh 

Crowned  with  immortal  jubilee 
Father  of  nations  !  what  high  thoughts  endued 
From  princely  walls,  in  Eastern  pomp  arrayed 
How  sweet  the  ways  of  wisdom  early  gain'd  . 
If  thou  art  one  whose  cry  is  Liberty 
Into  some  wave,  which  heedless  night-winds  rock 
Jesu,  the  heart's  own  sweetness,  and  true  light 
Me  hath  He  called  to  love  Him,  me  hath  deign'd 
Now  weary  men  are  tending  to  their  home 
Oh  that,  ere  death  shall  close  my  eyes  in  sleep 
"  Our  Father  "—happy  he  that  knows     . 
Prayer  is  omnipotence  descending,  when 
The  child  leans  on  its  parent's  breast 
There  is  a  time  to  fast      .... 
Truth  through  the  sacred  volume  hidden  lies 
Why  for  thy  Lord  dost  thou  thus  weep  and  mourn 

Willis,  Nathaniel  Parker 

They  came  on 

Wither,  George 

Because  the  world  might  not  pretend 

I  should  not  care  how  hard  my  fortunes  were 

Wordsworth,  Christopher 

"  Holy  of  Holies,"  awful  name 

Thou  bidd'st  us  "  visit  in  distress    ... 
WoTTON,  Sir  Henry 

How  happy  is  he  born  and  taught  ... 

WRATisLAw,  Albert  Henry 

Love  hath  descended  from  His  Throne  on  high 

Wynne,  Shirley 

The  time  is  short 


Young,  Edward 

And  feel  I,  Death,  no  joy  from  thought  of  thee 


THE    CHURCHMAN'S 
TREASURY  OF  SONG 

THE  SEASON  OF  ADVENT 

GOD  bless  the  calm  and  holy  cheer 
That  ushers  in  the  Christian  Year; 
And,  whatsoe'er  of  gloom  or  shade, 
Season  or  sorrow  may  have  made, 
Lifts  us,  with  its  mysterious  power. 
Out  of  the  dark  and  dying  hour, 
Into  the  lights  which  ever  play 
Round  children  of  th'  Eternal  Day. 

Blest  Advent  of  our  ling'ring  Lord  ! 
How  high  the  hope,  how  sure  the  word. 
That  thus,  with  every  year's  return. 
Make  our  dull  hearts  within  us  burn 
For  that  long  sought  and  promised  Day, 
When  "Heaven  and  Earth  shall  pass  away," 
And  Christ  from  highest  Heav'ns  shall  come. 
To  take  His  waiting  people  home. 

Since  childhood's  early  hours,  our  eyes 
Have  watch'd  the  east  for  reddening  skies  : 
Year  after  year  has  Advent  brought 
Us  nearer  to  the  Prize  we  sought ; 
But  still  it  lingers  ;  — O  that  we 
Were  more  prepared  to  welcome  Thee ; 
Thine  Advent,  with  its  Angel  throng. 
Would  not  be  tarrying,  Lord,  so  long. 

John  S.  B.  Monsfxl 


2    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 


THE  FIRST  SUNDAY  IN  ADVENT 

THROW  wide  the  gate,  my  heart,  and  give  thy 
Lord 
A  welcome  meet ; 
Take  all  thy  palms,  thine  homage  to  afford, 
Laid  at  His  feet : 
Forth  every  wish  and  thought 
To  meet  the  Christ  be  brought ; 
And  song,  of  highest  note.  His  glad  arrival  greet. 

He  cometh,  meek  and  lowly,  as  of  old 

In  prophet's  view ; 
Haste  to  His  path ;  and  all  in  Him  foretold, 
Thou'lt  find  as  true  : 
With  love  of  childlike  glow, 
On  Christ  attendant  go  ; 
And  childhood's  hymns  the  faith  of  childhood's 
time  renew. 

Thy  Saviour  on  the  height  above  had  wept. 

Viewing  thy  sin : 
Yet  onward  still  His  faithful  journey  kept, 
Thy  peace  to  win  : 
Now,  with  salvation  nigh, 
To  share  His  triumph  hie ; 
And  up  to  Zion's  dome  thy  course  with  Christ 
begin. 

Hnsanna !  blest  be  He,  Who  comes  to  save. 

In  God's  great  Name  : 
All  things  on  earth,  e'en  stones  which  mark  the 
grave. 

Give  loud  acclaim. 


FIRST  SUNDAY  IN  ADVENT  3 

Lord,  in  this  heart  of  mine 
Enter,  as  God's  own  shrine, 
From  which  Thy  holy  scourge  all  base  defilements 
drave. 

Lord  Kinloch 


WEEK  OF  THE  FIRST  SUNDAY 

IN  ADVENT 

MONDAY 

HOW  long,  O  Lord,  in  weariness  and  sorrow. 
Must  Thy  poor   people  tread  the  pilgrim 
road, 
Mourning  to-day  and  fearing  for  to-morrow, — 
Finding  no  place  of  rest,  no  sure  abode  ? — 

Sighing  o'er  faded  flowers  and  cisterns  broken ; 

Gazing  on  setting  suns,  that  rise  no  more ; 
Listening  to  sad  farewells,  and  last  words  spoken 

By  loved  ones  leaving  us  on  Jordan's  shore  ! 

How  long,  through  snares  of  error  and  temptation, 
Shall  noblest  spirits  stumble  on  their  way? 

How  long,  through  darkening  storms  of  tribulation. 
Must  we  press  forward  to  eternal  day  ? 

How  long  shall  passing  faults  and  trifles  sever 
Hearts  that  have  known  affection's  holy  tie  ? 

When   shall   the   slanderer's   tale   be   hushed   for 
ever. 
And  brethren  see  in  all  things  eye  to  eye  ? 


4    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

How  long  shall  last  the  night  of  toil  and  sadness, 

The  midnight  hour  of  gloomy  doubts  and  fears  ? 
When  shall  it  dawn,  that  promised  morn  of  glad- 
ness, 
When   Thine   own  hand  shall  wipe  away  our 
tears? 

How  long,  O  Lord  ?    Our  hearts  are  sad  and  weary. 
Our  voices  join  the  whole  creation's  groan; 

With  eager  gaze  we  watch  for  Thine  appearing. 
When  wilt  Thou  come  again,  and  claim  Thine 
own? 

Return  !  return  !  come  in  Thy  power  and  glory, 
With  all  Thy  risen  Saints  and  Angel  throng ; 

Bring  to  a  close  Time's  strange,  mysterious  story, 
How  long  dost  Thou  delay, — O  Lord,  how  long? 

Jane  Borthwick 


TUESDAY 

WHAT  and  if  the  Day  is  breaking, 
Day  so  long  by  seers  foretold, 
When,  from  slumbers  deep  awaking. 
Saints  their  Saviour  shall  behold ; 
Are  you  ready  ?  are  you  ready  ? 
Or  is  still  your  bosom  cold  ? 

Is  it  cold  to  Hira  Who  sought  thee 

In  this  wilderness  forlorn  ? 
Cold  to  Him,  the  Friend  Who  bought  thee. 

Nor  complained  of  nail  or  thorn  ? 
Are  you  ready  ?  are  you  ready  ? 

Or  do  you  His  yearning  scorn  ? 


FIRST  SUNDAY  IN  ADVENT 

Are  you  clothed  in  bridal  raiment, 

Woven  by  anointed  hands  ; 
Given  thee  without  thy  payment, 

Pledge  of  Love's  unwearied  hands  ? 
Are  you  ready  ?  are  you  ready  ? 

See  the  portal  open  stands. 

Are  you  washt  in  holy  water, 

You  so  long  by  sin  defiled  ? 
Should  He  say,  "  My  son,"  "  My  daughter," 

Can  you  say,  "  Behold  Thy  child  "  ? 
Are  you  ready  ?  are  you  ready  ? 
Thus  by  Jesus  to  be  styled  ? 

Are  you  ready  for  the  meeting 

With  the  Saviour  in  the  air? 
Longing  for  that  holy  greeting 

With  the  ransomed  myriads  there  ? 
If  not  ready,  if  not  ready, 
Oh  !  for  that  great  Day  prepare  ! 


WEDNESDAY 

DAYSPRING  of  Eternity, 
Dawn  on  us  at  morning-tide ; 
Light  from  light's  exhaustless  sea. 
Never  more  Thy  radiance  hide  ; 
But  dispel  with  glorious  might 
All  our  night. 

Let  the  morning  dew  of  love 

On  our  sleeping  conscience  rain  ; 

Gentle  comfort  from  above 

Flow  through  life's  long  parched  plain  ; 

Water  daily  us  Thy  flock 
From  the  rock. 


6    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Let  the  glow  of  love  destroy 
Cold  obedience  faintly  given  ; 

Wake  our  hearts  to  strength  and  joy 
With  the  flushing  eastern  heaven ; 

Let  us  truly  rise  ere  yet 
Life  hath  set. 

Brightest  star  of  eastern  skies, 

Let  that  final  morn  appear, 
When  our  bodies  too  shall  rise 

Free  from  all  that  pain'd  them  here, 
Strong  their  joyful  course  to  run 
As  the  sun. 

To  yon  world  be  Thou  our  light, 
O  Thou  glorious  Sun  of  grace  ; 

Lead  us  through  the  tearful  night 
To  yon  fair  and  blessed  place, 

Where  to  joy  that  never  dies 
We  shall  rise. 

K.  VON  ROSENROTH 


THURSDAY 

COUNT  not  the  days  that  have  idly  flown. 
The  years  that  were  vainly  spent ; 
Nor  speak  of  the  hours  thou  must  blush  to  own, 
When  thy  spirit  stands  before  the  Throne, 
To  account  for  the  talents  lent. 

But  number  the  hours  redeemed  from  sin, 

The  moments  employed  for  Heaven ; 
Oh  !  few  and  evil  thy  days  have  been, 
Thy  life,  a  toilsome  but  worthless  scene, 
For  a  nobler  purpose  given. 


FIRST  SUNDAY  IN  ADVENT  \ 

Will  the  shade  go  back  on  thy  dial-plate  ? 

Will  thy  sun  stand  still  on  his  way  ? 
Both  hasten  on ;  and  thy  spirit's  fate 
Rests  on  the  point  of  life's  little  date : 

Then  live  while  'tis  called  to-day. 

Life's  waning  hours,  like  the  Sibyl's  page, 

As  they  lessen,  in  value  rise : 
Oh  !  rouse  thee  and  live  !  nor  deem  man's  age 
Stands  in  the  length  of  his  pilgrimage, 

But  in  days  that  are  truly  wise. 

Christian  Lyrics 


FRIDAY 

THEIR  bark  is  smoothly  gliding  o'er  the  sea. 
The  storms  are  hush'd,  and  all  goes  merrily — 
Grace  at  the  helm,  and  Virtue  at  the  prow, 
Wafted  by  gales  from  Heav'n  they  onward  go. 

And  whither  bound  ?     Oh,  see  ye  not  that  light 
Which  streams  across  the  waters,  rich  and  bright  ? 
It  tells  of  fragrant,  palmy  regions,  where 
Love  sits  enthroned  to  greet  His  subjects  there. 

Distant,  yet  near ;  invisible,  yet  seen. 
Blest  Land  of  Promise,  lovely  and  serene. 
Where  tempests  come  not,  where  no  cross  wind 

blows — 
The  soul's  safe  refuge,  and  the  heart's  repose. 

The  helm  is  right,  and  onward  bounds  the  bark, 
Like  as  the  arrow  speeds  toward  the  mark : 
Hear  ye  not  voices  borne  on  sunny  wings, 
Telling  Faith's  children  of  all  glorious  things  ? 


8    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Of  things  that  make  us  long  to  cleave  the  air 
With  anxious  speed,  to  be  reposing  there  ? 
Oh,  listen  while  the  choral  voices  sound 
God's  loving  voice  to  all  His  children  round. 

Blow  on  ye  breezes,  ay,  let  ocean  roar. 
Till  the  blest  crew  be  anchor'd  on  the  shore ; 
Then  in  God's  bright  pavilion  they  shall  be 
Enthroned  as  kings  throughout  eternity. 

George  Fisk 


SATURDAY 

WHEN  evening  clouds  hang  clustering  round 
the  sun, 
And  sad,  sweet  memories  make  my  heart  their 
prey. 
It  swells  again  exultant  at  the  thought 

Of  that  great  Day, 

When  Thou  wilt  come  with  clouds  that  shall  have 
caught 
New  and  surpassing  glories  from  Thy  light ; 
The  light  that  then  shall  rise  for  evermore, 

Nor  sink  in  night. 

All  Nature,  that  before  seemed  one  deep  dream 

Of  beauty  steeped  in  sorrow,  now  doth  ring 
With  earnest  voices,  of  expectant  joy. 

That  call  their  King. 

O  wounded  but  undying  Love !  we  feel 

Thy  veiled  Presence  is  amongst  us  here  : 
Unto  the  longing  eyes  that  seek  Thee  now, 

Shine  out  more  clear. 


SECOND  SUNDAY  IN  ADVENT         9 

Rule  me,  my  Lord  !  that  love  may  be  confirmed, 

By  glad  obedience,  and  by  service  due ; 
Let  me  be  pliant  underneath  Thy  hand, 

Meek,  docile,  true 
C.  M.  Noel. 


THE  SECOND  SUNDAY  IN  ADVENT 

OH  Book  !  infinite  sweetness  !  let  my  heart 
Suck  every  letter,  and  a  honey  gain 
Precious  for  any  grief  in  any  part, 
To  clear  the  breast,  to  mollify  all  pain. 
Thou  art  all  health,  health  thriving  till  it  make 
A  full  eternity ;  thou  art  a  mass 
Of  strange  delights,   where  we  may   wish  and 
take. 
Ladies,  look  here ;  this  is  the  thankful  glass 
That  mends  the  looker's  eyes,  this  is  the  well 
That  washes  what  it  shows.     Who  can  endear 
Thy  praise  too  much  ?    Thou  art  Heaven's  lieger 
here. 
Working  against  the  states  of  death  and  hell. 
Thou  art  joy's  handsell :    Heaven   lies   flat  in 

thee. 
Subject  to  every  mounter's  bended  knee. 

Oh  that  I  knew  how  all  thy  lights  combine, 

And  the  configurations  of  their  glory  ! 

Seeing  not  only  how  each  verse  doth  shine, 
But  all  the  constellations  of  the  story. 
This  verse  marks  that,  and  both  do  make  a  motion 

Unto  a  third,  that  ten  leaves  oif  doth  lie. 

Then,  as  dispersed  herbs  do  match  a  potion, 
These  three  make  up  some  Christian's  destiny. 


lo   CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Such  are  thy  secrets,  which  my  life  makes  good, 
And  comments  on  thee  :  for  in  every  thing 
Thy  words  do  find  me  out,  and  parallels  bring, 
And  in  another  make  me  understood. 

Stars    are     poor    books,    and     oftentimes    do 

miss : 
This  book  of  stars  lights  to  eternal  bliss. 

George  Herbert 


WEEK  OF  THE  SECOND  SUNDAY 
IN  ADVENT 

MONDAY 

THIS  Book,  this  holy  Book — on  every  line 
Marked  with  the  seal  of  high  divinity, 
On  every  leaf  bedewed  with  drops  of  love 
Divine,  and  with  the  eternal  heraldry 
And  signature  of  God  Almighty  stamped 
From  first  to  last — this  ray  of  sacred  light, 
This  lamp,  from  off  the  everlasting  Throne, ' 
Mercy  took  down,  and  in  the  night  of  Time 
Stood,  casting  on  the  dark  her  gracious  bow ; 
And  evermore  beseeching  men,  with  tears 
And  earnest  sighs,  to  read,  believe,  and  live. 
And  many  to  her  voice  gave  ear,  and  read. 
Believed,  obeyed ;  and  now,  as  the  Amen, 
True,    Faithful    Witness    swore,    with     snowy 

robes 
And  branchy  palms  surround  the  Fount  of  Life, 
And  drink  the  streams  of  immortality. 
For  ever  happy,  and  for  ever  young. 

Robert  Pollok 


SECOND  SUNDAY  IN  ADVENT 


TUESDAY 

THE  glorious  Sun  no  man  can  see 
Except  his  eye  may  sun-like  be ; 
And  thus  the  Bible  is  not  understood, 
Unless  a  sympathy  divine 
The  heart  attracts  for  truth  divine, 
And  love,  not  learning,  prompt  it  to  be  good. 

But  if  they  read  with  child-like  awe, 
Diviner  truths  than  Plato  saw 

Adoring  peasants  on  their  knees  discern  ; 
While  secrets,  which  were  veiled  of  yore 
And  Angels'  study  more  and  more 

The  infant-scholars  of  the  Spirit  learn. 

Each  Lesson,  with  maternal  care 
Adjusted  well  for  praise  and  prayer, 

Long  may  adoring  hearts  in  love  peruse ; 
Until,  from  sin  and  self  made  free. 
Our  lives  embodied  Scripture  be, 

And,  when  the  Saviour  calls,  no  cross  refuse  ! 

Holding  His  pierced  Hands  on  high 

Before  enthroned  Deity, 
The  God  incarnate  as  our  Priest  prevails  : 

Go,  seek  His  interceding  grace. 

And  in  the  light  of  that  blest  Face 
Behold  a  sympathy,  which  never  fails  ! 

If,  as  we  learn  the  truth,  we  live, 
True  love  to  God  the  truth  will  give  : 
Spirit  Divine  !  do  Thou  interpret  all, 
Till  God's  Word  with  divine  control 


12    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Reign  like  a  soul  within  a  soul, 
And  prove  us  children  when  on  God  we  call. 
Robert  Montgomery 


WEDNESDAY 

TRUTH  through  the  sacred  volume  hidden  lies, 
And  spreads  from  end  to  end  her  secret  wing, 
Through  ritual,  type,  and  storied  mysteries. 
From  this  or  that,  when  Error  points  her  sting, 
From  all  her  holds.  Truth's  stern  defences  spring, 
And  text  to  text  the  full  accordance  bears. 
Through  every  page  the  universal  King, 
From  Eden's  loss  unto  the  end  of  years. 
From  east  unto  the  west,  the  Son  of  Man  appears. 


O  Holy  Truth,  whene'er  Thy  voice  is  heard, 
A  thousand  echoes  answer  to  the  call ; 
Tho'  oft  inaudible  Thy  gentle  word. 
While  we  regard  not.     Take  me  from  the  thrall 
Of  passionate  hopes,  be  Thou  my  all  in  all ; 
So  may  obedience  lead  me  by  the  hand 
Into  Thine  inner  shrine  and  secret  hall. 
Thence  hath  Thy  voice  gone  forth  o'er  sea  and  land, 
And  all  that  voice  may  hear — but  none  can  under- 
stand, 

Save  the  obedient.     From  both  love  and  hate, 
Affections  vile,  low  cares,  and  envy's  blight. 
And  controversial  leanings  and  debate. 
Save  me  !  from  earthy  film  my  mental  sight 
Purge  Thou,  make  my  whole  body  full  of  light ! 
So  may  my  eyes  from  all  things  Truth  convey, 


SECOND  SUNDAY  IN  ADVENT        13 

My  ears  in  all  Thy  lessons  read  aright, 
My  dull  heart  understand,  and  I  obey, 
Following  where'er  Thy  Church  hath  mark'd  the 
ancient  way. 

Isaac  Williams 


T 


THURSDAY 

HE  time  is  short; 

Therefore  with  all  thy  might. 
Labour  for  God  and  Right. 
Pause  not  for  heats  and  shadows  of  the  day, 
Fail  not  for  difficulties  of  the  way  : 
Be  true,  be  pure,  be  strong  ! 
Eternity  is  long. 

The  time  is  short ;  \ 

Sin,  misery,  and  despair 
Darken  the  earth  and  air ; 
Therefore  do  thou  with  Heaven  intercede. 
And  for  thy  brethren,  ere  they  perish,  plead  : 
Pray  for  the  prayerless  throng ! 
Eternity  is  long. 

The  time  is  short ; 
Therefore,  my  brother,  love ! 
Love  always  !  God  above    . 
Is  one  with  thee  in  this ;  O  take 
His    crown   of  thorns,    and   thine   own   self  for- 
sake ! 
Love,  spite  of  pain  and  wrong  ! 
Eternity  is  long. 

Shirley  Wynne 


14    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 


FRIDAY 

'*\'\THAT  is  Life,  Father?" 

VV  "A  Battle,  my  child. 

Where  the  strongest  lance  may  fail. 
Where  the  wariest  eyes  may  be  beguiled. 

And  the  stoutest  heart  may  quail. 
Where  the  foes  are  gathered  on  every  hand 

And  rest  not  day  or  night, 
And  the  feeble  little  ones  must  stand 

In  the  thickest  of  the  fight." 


"What  is  Death,  Father?" 

"  The  Rest,  my  child. 

When  the  strife  and  the  toil  are  o'er ; 
The  Angel  of  God,  who,  calm  and  mild. 

Says  we  need  fight  no  more ; 
Who,  driving  away  the  demon  band. 

Bids  the  din  of  the  battle  cease  ; 
Takes  banner  and  spear  from  our  failing  hand. 

And  proclaims  an  eternal  Peace." 


"  Let  me  die.  Father !  I  tremble,  and  fear 
To  yield  in  that  terrible  strife ! " 

*'  The  crown  must  be  won  for  Heaven,  dear, 

In  the  battle-field  of  life  ; 
My  child,  though  thy  foes  are  strong  and  tried, 

He  loveth  the  weak  and  small ; 
The  Angels  of  Heaven  are  on  thy  side. 

And  God  is  over  all  ! " 

Adelaide  Anne  Procter 


SECOND  SUNDAY  IN  ADVENT        15 


SATURDAY 

TO  weary  hearts,  to  mourning  homes 
God's  meekest  Angel  gently  comes  ; 
No  power  has  he  to  banish  pain, 
Or  give  us  back  our  lost  again. 
And  yet  in  tenderest  love  our  dear 
And  heavenly  Father  sends  him  here. 

There's  quiet  in  that  Angel's  glance, 

There's  rest  in  his  still  countenance ! 

He  mocks  no  grief  with  idle  cheer, 

Nor  wounds  with  words  the  mourner's  ear ; 

But  ills  and  woes  he  may  not  cure, 

He  kindly  trains  us  to  endure. 

Angel  of  Patience  !  sent  to  calm 
Our  feverish  brows  with  cooling  palm  ; 
To  lay  the  storms  of  hope  and  fear, 
And  reconcile  life's  smile  and  tear ; 
The  throbs  of  wandering  pride  to  still. 
And  make  our  own  our  Father's  will ! 

O  thou  who  mournest  on  the  way, 
With  longings  for  the  close  of  day ; 
He  walks  with  thee,  that  Angel  kind. 
And  gently  whispers  "  Be  resigned  " ; 
Bear  up,  bear  on,  the  end  shall  tell. 
The  dear  Lord  ordereth  all  things  well ! 

John  Greenleaf  VVhittier 


i6    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 


THE  THIRD  SUNDAY  IN  ADVENT 

HARK  !  through  the  lonely  waste, 
By  foot  of  man  unpaced, 
Prepare  the  way — a  warning  voice  resounds ; 
Level  the  opposing  hill, 
The  hollow  valley  fill. 
Make  straight  the  crooked,  smooth  the  rugged 
grounds : 
Prepare  a  passage,  form  it  plain  and  broad, 
And  through  the  desert  make  a  highway  for  our  God. 

Thine,  Baptist,  was  the  cry, 
In  ages  long  gone  by, 
Heard  in  clear  accents  by  the  Prophet's  ear ; 
As  if  'twere  thine  to  wait. 
And  with  imperial  state 
Herald  some  Eastern  monarch's  proud  career ; 
Who  thus  might  march  his  host  in  full  array. 
And  speed  through  trackless  wilds  his  unresisted  way. 

But  other  task  hadst  thou 
Than  lofty  hills  to  bow, 
Make  straight  the  crooked,  the  rough  places  plain : 
Thine  was  the  harder  part 
To  smooth  the  human  heart. 
The  wilderness  where  sin  had  fixed  his  reign  ; 
To  make  deceit  his  mazy  wiles  forego, 
Bring  down  high  vaulting  pride,  and  lay  ambition 
low. 

Such,  Baptist,  was  thy  care. 
That  no  objection  there 
Might  check  the  progress  of  the  King  of  kings ; 


THIRD  SUNDAY  IN  ADVENT         17 

But  that  a  clear  highway, 
Might  welcome  the  array, 
Of  Heavenly  graces  which  His  Presence  brings  ; 
And  where  Repentance  had  prepared  the  road, 
There  Faith  might  enter  in,  and  Love  to  man  and 
God. 

Richard  Manx 


WEEK  OF  THE  THIRD  SUNDAY  IN 
ADVENT 

MONDAY 

SPIRIT  of  Christ  !  Thy  grace  be  given 
To  those  who  lead  Thine  host,  that  they 
With  might  may  wield  the  sword  of  Heaven, 
Thus  strengthened  on  their  weary  way. 

Oft,  as  at  morn  or  soothing  eve, 
Over  the  Fount  of  Truth  they  lean. 

Their  fading  garland  freshly  weave 

Or  fan  them  with  Thine  airs  serene  : — 

Spirit  of  Light  and  Truth  !  to  Thee 
We  trust  them  in  that  musing  hour, 

That  they,  with  open  heart  and  free, 
May  teach  Thy  Word  in  all  its  power. 

When  foemen  watch  their  tents  by  night 
And  mists  hang  thick  o'er  moor  and  fell, 

Spirit  of  Counsel  and  of  Might, 

Their  pastoral  warfare  guide  Thou  well. 


i8    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

And  O  !  when  worn  and  tired  they  sigh 
With  that  more  fearful  war  within, 

When  passion's  storms  are  loud  and  high 
And,  brooding  o'er  remembered  sin, 

The  heart  dies  down,  O  mightiest,  then 
Come  ever  true,  come  ever  near  ; 

And  wake  their  slumbering  love  again, 
Spirit  of  God's  most  holy  Fear. 

John  Keble 


TUESDAY 

THE  world  is  sick,  and  yet  not  unto  death ; 
There  is  for  it  a  day  of  health  in  store ; 
From    lips    of  love  there   comes   the    healing 
breath — 
The  breath  of  Him  Who  all  its  sickness  bore. 
And  bids  it  rise  to  strength  and  beauty  evermore. 


Evil  still  reigns  ;  and  deep  within  we  feel 

The  fever  and  the  palsy  and  the  pain 
Of  life's  perpetual  heart-aches,  that  reveal 

The   rooted  poison,  which,  from  heart    and 
brain, 
We  labour  to  extract,  but  labour  all  in  vain  ! 


Our  skill  avails  not ;  ages  come  and  go, 

Yet  bring  with  them  no  respite  and  no  cure  ; 

The  hidden  wound,  the  sigh  of  pent-up  woe, 
The  sting  we  smother  but  must  still  endure. 
The  worthless  anodynes  which  no  relief  procure,- 


J 


THIRD  SUNDAY  IN  ADVENT        19 

All  these  cry  out  for  something  more  divine, 
Which   the   worst    woes    of  earth   may  not 
withstand — 
Medicine  that  cannot  fail,  the  oil  and  wine, 
The  balm  and  myrrh,  growth  of  no  earthly 
land, 
And  the  all-skilful  touch  of  the  great   Healer's 
hand. 

Man    needs    a    prophet :    Heavenly    Prophet, 
speak. 
And  teach  him  what  he  is  too  proud  to  hear. 
Man  needs  a  priest :  True  Priest,  Thy  silence 
break, 
And  speak  the  words  of  pardon  in  his  ear. 
Man  needs  a  king :  O  King  of  kings,  at  length  in 
love  appear. 

HORATIUS  BONAR 


WEDNESDAY 

JUDGE  not ;  the  workings  of  his  brain 
And  of  his  heart  thou  canst  not  see ; 
What  looks  to  thy  dim  eyes  a  stain. 
In  God's  pure  light  may  only  be 
A  scar,  brought  from  some  well- won  field, 
Where  thou  wouldst  only  faint  and  yield. 

The  look,  the  air,  that  frets  thy  sight, 

May  be  a  token,  that  below 
The  soul  has  closed  in  deadly  fight, 

With  some  infernal  fiery  foe, 
Whose  glance  would  scorch  thy  smiling  grace, 
And  cast  thee  shuddering  on  thy  face  ! 


20    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

The  fall  thou  darest  to  despise — 
May  be  the  Angel's  slackened  hand 

Has  suffered  it,  that  he  may  rise 
And  take  a  firmer,  surer  stand ; 

Or,  trusting  less  to  earthly  things, 

May  henceforth  learn  to  use  his  wings. 

And  judge  none  lost ;  but  wait,  and  see. 
With  hopeful  pity,  not  disdain  ; 

The  depth  of  the  abyss  may  be 
The  measure  of  the  height  of  pain 

And  love  and  glory  that  may  raise 

The  soul  to  God  in  after  days  ! 

Adelaide  Anne  Procter 


THURSDAY 

THE  days  of  old  were  days  of  might 
In  forms  of  greatness  moulded. 
And  flowers  of  Heaven  grew  on  the  earth 

Within  the  Church  unfolded : 
For  grace  fell  fast  as  summer  dew, 
And  Saints  to  giant  stature  grew. 

But  one  by  one  the  gifts  are  gone 

That  in  the  Church  resided. 
And  gone  the  Spirit's  living  light 

That  on  her  walls  abided. 
When  by  our  shrines  He  came  to  dwell 
In  power  and  presence  visible. 

A  blight  hath  past  upon  the  Church, 

Her  summer  hath  departed. 
The  chill  of  age  is  on  her  sons, 


THIRD  SUNDAY  IN  ADVENT         21 

The  cold,  and  fearful-hearted ; 
And  sad,  amid  neglect  and  scorn, 
Our  Mother  sits  and  weeps  forlorn. 

Narrow  and  narrower  still  each  year 

The  holy  circle  groweth. 
And  what  the  end  of  all  shall  be 

Nor  man  nor  Angel  knoweth  : 
And  so  we  wait  and  watch  in  fear ; — 
It  may  be  that  the  Lord  is  near ! 

Frederick  William  Faber 


FRIDAY 

WHAT,  what  is  tried  in  the  fires  of  God  ? 
And  what  are  the  fires  that  try  ? — 
All,  all  is  tried  in  the  fires  of  God, 
And  many  the  fires  that  try. 

And  what  is  burnt  in  the  fires  of  God  ? — 

All  but  the  fine,  fine  gold  ; 
The  treasures  we  offer  for  praise  and  pride 

Or  for  pride  and  self  withhold ; 
And  we,  as  far  as  our  souls  are  wrapt 

In  the  raiment  that  waxeth  old. 

And  when  will  the  fires  of  God  be  lit  ? — 

They  are  burning  every  day ; 
They  are  trying  us  all,  within  and  without, 

The  gold  and  the  potter's  clay. 

But  what  is  lost  in  the  fires  of  God  ? — 

Nothing  that  is  not  dross ; 
No  tiniest  grain  of  the  golden  sands, 

Or  wood  of  the  true,  true  Cross ; 


22    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

No  smallest  seed  of  the  lowliest  deed 

Of  faith  and  hope  and  love, 
The  precious  things  that  abide  earth's  fires, 

And  for  ever  abide,  above. 

Yea,  nought  is  lost  in  the  fires  of  God 

That  is  not  waste  or  dross — 
That  we  would  not  choose,  could  we  see,  to  lose, 

And  say,  this  was  gain  not  loss. 

Elizabeth  Rundle  Charles 


SATURDAY 

BECAUSE  the  world  might  not  pretend 
It  knew  not  of  Thy  coming  Day, 
Thou  didst,  O  Christ,  before  Thee  send 

A  Crier  to  prepare  Thy  way  : 
Thy  Kingdom  was  the  bliss  he  brought. 
Repentance  was  the  way  he  taught. 

And  that  his  voice  might  not  alone 
Inform  us  what  we  should  believe, 

His  life  declared  what  must  be  done, 
If  Thee  we  purpose  to  receive  : 

His  life  our  pattern  therefore  make. 

That  we  the  course  he  took  may  take. 

Let  us  not  gad  to  pleasure's  court. 
With  fruitless  toys  to  feed  the  mind ; 

Nor  to  that  wilderness  resort. 

Where  reeds  are  shaken  with  the  wind : 

But  tread  the  path  he  trod  before. 

That  both  a  prophet  was  and  more. 


\ 


FOURTH  SUNDAY  IN  ADVENT   23 

Thus  from  the  Crier  let  us  learn, 
For  Thee,  sweet  Jesus,  to  prepare, 

And  others  of  their  sins  to  warn, 
However  for  the  same  we  fare : 

So  Thou  to  us,  and  we  to  Thee, 

Shall  when  Thou  comest  welcome  be. 
George  Wither 


THE  FOURTH  SUNDAY  IN  ADVENT 

AH,  what  time  wilt  Thou  come  ?  when  shall  that 
cry. 
The  Bridegroom's  comings  fill  the  sky  ? 
Shall  it  in  the  evening  run 
When  our  words  and  works  are  done  ? 
Or  will  Thy  all-surprising  light 
Break  at  mid-night  ? 
Or  shall  these  early  fragrant  hours 

Unlock  Thy  bowers. 
And  with  their  blush  of  light  descry 
Thy  locks  crowned  with  eternity  ? 
Indeed  it  is  the  only  time 
That  with  Thy  glory  doth  best  chime ; 
All  now  are  stirring,  ev'ry  field 

Full  hymns  doth  yield ; 
The  whole  creation  shakes  ofi"  night. 
And  for  Thy  shadow  looks  the  light ; 
Stars  now  vanish  without  number, 
Sleepy  planets  set  and  slumber. 
The  pursy  clouds  disband  and  scatter, 
All  expect  some  sudden  matter. 
Not  one  beam  triumphs,  but  from  far 

That  morning  star. 


24    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Oh  at  what  time  soever  Thou 

Unknown  to  us  the  heavens  wilt  bow, 

And  with  Thy  Angels  in  the  van 

Descend  to  judge  poor  careless  man, 

Grant  I  may  not  like  puddle  lie 

In  a  corrupt  security ; 

Where  if  a  traveller  water  crave 

He  finds  it  dead,  and  in  a  grave. 

But  as  this  restless  vocal  spring 

All  day  and  night  doth  run  and  sing, 

And  though  here  born,  yet  is  acquainted 

Elsewhere,  and  flowing  keeps  untainted ; 

So  let  me  all  my  busy  age 

In  Thy  free  services  engage. 

Henry  Vaughan 


WEEK  OF  THE  FOURTH  SUNDAY 
IN  ADVENT 

MONDAY 

LORD  !  come  away  ! 
Why  dost  Thou  stay  ? 
Thy   road   is   ready;  and  Thy  paths  made 
straight 
With  longing  expectation  wait 
The  consecration  of  Thy  beauteous  feet ! 
Ride  on  triumphantly  !     Behold  we  lay 

Our  lusts  and  proud  wills  in  Thy  way  ! 
Hosanna !  Welcome  to  our  hearts  !  Lord,  here 
Thou  hast  a  temple  too  ;  and  full  as  dear 
As  that  of  Zion,  and  as  full  of  sin  : 
Nothing  but  thieves  and  robbers  dwell  therein : 


FOURTH  SUNDAY  IN  ADVENT       25 

Enter,  and  chase  them  forth,  and  cleanse  the  floor  ! 
Crucify  them,  that  they  may  never  more 
Profane  that  holy  place 
Where  Thou  hast  chose  to  set  Thy  face ! 
And  then,  if  our  stiff  tongues  shall  be 
Mute  in  the  praises  of  Thy  Deity, 
The  stones  out  of  the  temple-wall 

Shall  cry  aloud,  and  call 
Hosanna  !  and  Thy  glorious  footsteps  greet ! 
Jeremy  Taylor 


TUESDAY 

HOW  many  a  Grecian  youth  of  old, 
Preparing  for  the  Isthmian  plain, 
And  driven  by  thirst  of  fame,  was  bold 

For  discipline  that  he  might  gain 
An  athlete's  vigour  well-controlled. 

And  win  the  olive  crown  through  pain  ! 

But,  when  in  time  of  wrinkled  age 
His  earlier  force  had  ebbed  away, 

And,  closing  now  his  pilgrimage, 

He  viewed  the  wreath's  forlorn  decay, 

Then  he  at  last  grew  wise  to  gauge 
The  fleeting  worth  of  glory's  day. 

Therefore  shall  we  give  precious  years 

And  sacred  energies  of  soul 
To  win  the  world's  resounding  cheers 

And  triumph  at  its  vaunted  goal  ? 
Nay,  such  a  guerdon  calms  no  fears 

When  Doomsday's  awful  thunders  roll ! 


26    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

But  rather  may  the  second  sight 
Of  Faith  disclose  the  prize  unseen, 

And  urge  us,  led  by  its  delight 
To  tame  the  sins,  that  intervene, 

And  fight  with  joy  a  nobler  fight 
For  crowns  of  never-fading  green  ! 

G.  T.  S.  Farquhar 


WEDNESDAY 

CHRIST  is  coming  !  let  creation 
Bid  her  groans  and  travail  cease ; 
Let  the  glorious  proclamation 

Hope  restore,  and  faith  increase — 
Maranatha ! 
Come,  Thou  blessed  Prince  of  Peace ! 


Earth  can  now  but  tell  the  story 
Of  Thy  bitter  Cross  and  pain ; 

She  shall  yet  behold  Thy  glory 

When  Thou  comest  back  to  reign — 
Maranatha ! 

Let  each  heart  repeat  the  strain ! 

Though  once  cradled  in  a  manger, 

Oft  no  pillow  but  the  sod ; 
Here  an  alien  and  a  stranger, 

Mocked  of  men,  disowned  of  God — 
All  creation 
Yet  shall  own  Thy  kingly  rod. 

Long  Thine  exiles  have  been  pining 
Far  from  rest,  and  home,  and  Thee ; 


FOURTH  SUNDAY  IN  ADVENT   27 

But,  in  heavenly  vesture  shining, 
Soon  they  shall  Thy  glory  see — 
Maranatha ! 
Haste  the  joyous  jubilee  ! 

With  that  "  blessed  hope  "  before  us, 

Let  no  harp  remain  unstrung ; 
Let  the  mighty  Advent  chorus 

Onward  roll  from  tongue  to  tongue — 
Maranatha  ! 
Come,  Lord  Jesus,  quickly  come ! 

John  Ross  Macduff 


THURSDAY 

THE  Lord  shall  come  in  dead  of  night, 
When  all  is  stillness  round ; 
How  happy  they,  whose  lamps  are  bright, 
Who  hail  the  trumpet's  sound  ! 

How  blind  and  dead  the  world  appears  ! 

How  deep  her  slumbers  are ! 
Still  dreaming  that  the  day  she  fears 

Is  distant  and  afar  ! 

Who  spends  his  day  in  holy  toil, 

His  talent  used  aright, 
That  he  may  haste,  with  heavenly  spoil, 

To  meet  his  Lord  that  night  ? 

Are  ye  arousing  from  their  sleep, 

The  saints  who  dare  to  rest. 
And  calling  every  one  to  keep 

A  watch  more  true  and  blest  ? 


28    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Wake  up,  ray  heart  and  soul,  anew, 
Let  sleep  no  moment  claim ; 

But  hourly  watch,  as  if  ye  knew 
This  night  the  Master  came. 

The  Lord  shall  come  in  dead  of  night, 

When  all  is  stillness  round ; 
How  happy  they  whose  lamps  are  bright, 

Who  hail  the  trumpet's  sound  ! 

Jane  Borthwick 


FRIDAY 

WATCHMAN,  what  of  the  night? 
Clears  not  the  darkened  sky  ? 
Come  there  no  signs  of  light  ? 

Is  not  the  morning  nigh  ? 
"  Darkness  is  all  around ; 
Nowhere  may  light  be  found, 
Save  from  the  watcher's  fire ; 
Thou  must  again  inquire." 

Watchman,  what  of  the  night  ? 

Long  I  have  lain  awake. 
Yearning  for  fair  and  bright ; 
Finding  no  dawn  to  break. 
"  Darkness  begins  to  fly, 
Though  but  to  watcher's  eye : 
Still  must  the  night-lamp  burn  ; 
Yet  thou  may'st  soon  return." 

Watchman,  what  of  the  night  ? 

Peaceful  is  now  my  state ; 
Long  as  my  God  deems  right, 

Quiet  my  soul  will  wait. 


FOURTH  SUNDAY  IN  ADVENT       29 

"  Up !  from  the  eastern  hills, 
Rays  are  like  gushing  rills ; 
Up,  from  thy  darkness  spring ; 
Up,  and  thine  anthem  sing." 

Lord  Kinloch 


SATURDAY 

YET  if  his  majesty  our  sovereign  lord 
Should  of  his  own  accord 
Friendly  himself  invite, 
And  say  "  I'll  be  your  guest  to-morrow  night," 
How  should  we  stir  ourselves,  call  and  command 
All  hands  to  work  !     "  Let  no  man  idle  stand. 
Set  me  fine  Spanish  tables  in  the  hall. 
See  they  be  fitted  all ; 
Let  there  be  room  to  eat, 
And  order  taken  that  there  want  no  meat. 
See  every  sconce  and  candlestick  made  bright 
That  without  tapers  they  may  give  a  light. 
Look  to  the  presence  :  are  the  carpets  spread. 
The  dais  o'er  the  head, 
The  cushions  in  the  chairs, 
And  all  the  candles  lighted  on  the  stairs  ? 
Perfume  the  chambers,  and  in  any  case 
Let  each  man  give  attendance  in  his  place." 
Thus,  if  the  king  were  coming  would  we  do. 
And  'twere  good  reason  too ; 
For  'tis  a  duteous  thing 
To  show  all  honour  to  an  earthly  king. 
And  after  all  our  travail  and  our  cost. 
So  he  be  pleased,  to  think  no  labour  lost. 
But  at  the  coming  of  the  King  of  Heaven 
All's  set  at  six  and  seven  : 


30    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

We  wallow  in  our  sin, 
Christ  cannot  find  a  chamber  in  the  inn. 
We  entertain  Him  always  like  a  stranger, 
And  as  at  first  still  lodge  Him  in  the  manger. 


CHRISTMAS  EVE 

ALL  hail,  thou  night,  than  day  more  bright, 
Through  whose  mysterious  shade, 
In  wondrous  birth,  arose  on  earth, 

From  bosom  of  pure  Maid, 
The  Sun  new-born,  a  Star  of  morn. 
Filling  the  world  with  light ! 

He  Who  alone,  from  Heaven's  high  Throne, 

Rules  all,  and  doth  restore 
To  God's  embrace  man's  fallen  race. 

Lies  on  a  cottage  floor. 
Like  Him  that  we,  save  poverty, 

Have  nought  to  call  our  own. 

While  o'er  their  sheep  close  watch  they  keep, 

Those  shepherds  first  receive 
The  heavenly  call,  that  doth  to  all 

Great  joy  and  gladness  give, — 
The  call  from  Heaven,  to  watchmen  given 

That  wake  and  never  sleep. 

W.  J.  Blew 

CHRISTMAS  DAY 

COME,  ye  lofty  !  come,  ye  lowly  ! 
Let  your  songs  of  gladness  ring  ! 
In  a  stable  lies  the  Holy, 
In  a  manger  rests  the  King : 


CHRISTMAS  DAY  31 

See,  in  Mary's  arms  reposing, 

Christ  by  highest  Heaven  adored : 

Come  !  your  circle  round  Him  closing. 
Pious  hearts  that  love  the  Lord. 

Come,  ye  poor  !  no  pomp  of  station 

Robes  the  Child  your  hearts  adore: 
He,  the  Lord  of  all  salvation, 

Shares  your  want,  is  weak  and  poor : 
Oxen  round  about  behold  them. 

Rafters  naked,  cold,  and  bare : 
See  !  the  shepherds  !  God  has  told  them 

That  the  Prince  of  Life  lies  there. 

Come,  ye  children,  blithe  and  merry ! 

This  one  Child  your  model  make ; 
Christmas  holly,  leaf,  and  berry, 

All  be  prized  for  His  dear  sake : 
Come,  ye  gentle  hearts  and  tender ! 

Come,  ye  spirits  keen  and  bold ! 
All  in  all  your  homage  render, 

Weak  and  mighty,  young  and  old. 

High  above  a  star  is  shining. 

And  the  Wise  Men  haste  from  far : 
Come,  glad  hearts,  and  spirits  pining ! 

For  you  all  has  risen  the  Star. 
Let  us  bring  our  poor  oblations, 

Thanks  and  love  and  faith  and  praise ; 
Come,  ye  people  !  come,  ye  nations  ! 

All  in  all  draw  nigh  to  gaze. 

Hark  !  the  Heaven  of  heavens  is  ringing : 
Christ  the  Lord  to  man  is  born : 

Are  not  all  our  hearts,  too,  singing, 
Welcome,  welcome,  Christmas  morn  ? 


32    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Still  the  Child,  all  power  possessing, 
Smiles  as  through  the  ages  past ; 

And  the  song  of  Christmas-blessing 
Sweetly  sinks  to  rest  at  last. 

Archer  Gurney 


ST  STEPHEN'S  DAY 

SILENCE  !  though  the  flames  arise  and  quiver  : 
Silence  !  though  the  crowd  howls  on  for  ever. 
Silence  !     Through  this  fiery  purgatory 
God  is  leading  up  a  soul  to  glory. 

See,  the  white  lips  with  no  moans  are  trembling. 
Hate  of  foes  or  plaint  of  friends'  dissembling ; 
If  sighs  come — his  patient  prayers  outlive  them, 
"  Lord,  these  know  not  what  they  do.     Forgive 
them ! " 

Thirstier  still  the  roaring  flames  are  glowing  ; 
Fainter  in  his  ear  the  laughter  growing ; 
Brief  will  last  the  fierce  and  fiery  trial ; 
Angel  welcomes  drown  the  earth  denial. 

Now  the  amorous  death-fires,  gleaming  ruddy. 
Clasp  him  close.     Down  drops  the  quivering  body, 
While  through  harmless  flames  ecstatic  flying 
Shoots  the  beauteous  soul.     This,  this  is  dying. 

Lo,  the  opening  sky  with  splendour  rifted  ; 
Lo,  the  palm-branch  for  his  hands  uplifted ; 
Lo,  the  immortal  chariot,  cloud-descending, 
And  its  legion'd  Angels  close  attending. 


ST  JOHN  THE  EVANGELIST'S  DAY     33 

Let  his  poor  dust  mingle  with  the  embers, 
While  the  crowds  sweep  on  and  none  remembers  : 
Saints  unnumber'd  through  the  Infinite  Glory, 
Praising  God,  recount  the  Martyr's  story. 

D.  M.  MuLOCH  Craik 


ST  JOHN  THE  EVANGELIST'S  DAY 

THE  blue  Egean's  countless  waves  in  Sabbath 
sunlight  smiled. 
And  murmuring  washed  the  rocky  shore  of  that 

lone  island  wild  ; 
Where  unto  him  "whom  Jesus  loved,"  such  views 

sublime  were  given, 
That  e'en  the  land  of  exile  shone  "  the  very  gate 
of  Heaven  ! " 

He  saw  the  radiant  form  of  Him,  upon  Whose 

sorrowing  breast. 
At  the  last  supper's  solemn  feast  his  weary  head 

found  rest ; 
One  "  like  unto  the  Son  of  Man,"  all  glorious  to 

behold, 
Arrayed  in  robes  of  dazzling  light,  and  girt  with 

purest  gold. 

He  heard  the  mighty  new-made  song,  to  Angel- 
hosts  unknown, 

Go  up  like  incense  unto  Him  that  sat  upon  the 
Throne ; 

And   the   pure   strains   by  Seraphs   sung  in  that 
celestial  sphere. 

In  sweetest  cadence  rose  and  fell  upon  his  listening 
ear. 
c 


34    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Within  the  flashing  walls  of  Heaven,  with  jewelled 

splendour  bright, 
He  saw  the  countless  multitudes  arrayed  in  saintly 

white ; 
He   marked   them   with   their   waving   palms,    in 

worship  bending  low 
Before  the  feet  of  Him  Who  smil'd  beneath  the 

emerald  bow. 

The  pearly  gates,   the   crystal   sea,  the  universal 

hymn, 
The   sun-bright  forms,   the   brilliant  eyes,   which 

tears  may  never  dim, 
The  healing  trees,  the  fadeless  flowers,  the  harp- 

ings  of  the  blest. 
In  splendid  vision  to  his  soul  revealed  the  promised 

rest. 

Long  since  that  aged  saint  hath  reached  the  fair 

celestial  shore, 
And  gained  the  martyr's  crown,  for  he  the  martyr's 

suffering  bore ; 
Long  since  his  happy  feet  have  stood  within  his 

Father's  home. 
Yet  still  the  mighty  voice  he  heard,  with  ceaseless 

cry,  saith,  "Come  !" 

And  life's  bright  fountain  springeth  yet,  as  free, 

and  fresh,  and  fair, 
As  when  in  Patmos'  dreary  Isle  it  cheered  the 

exile  there ! 
And   hark !    the  Spirit   and   the  Bride  repeat  in 

mercy  still. 
That  he  who  is  athirst  may  drink — yea,  whosoever 

Willi 


THE  INNOCENTS'  DAY  35 

O  blessed  voices  !  be  it  ours  your  loving  call  to 

hear 
And   so   obey   that   when,   at   last,   from   yonder 

radiant  sphere 
The  Heavenly  Bridegroom  shall  descend  to  claim 

His  own  again, 
We  may  lift  up  our  heads  and  say,  ''  Lord,  even  so, 

Amen!" 

Elizabeth  Surr 


THE  INNOCENTS'  DAY 

RAH  EL  weeping  for  her  children, 
Flowers  in  early  spring  laid  low ; 
None  may  comfort,  none  may  cheer  her. 

Faint  and  pallid,  full  of  woe. 
Yet  the  slain  are  girt  with  triumph ; 

They  shall  swell  the  victors'  song ; 
Theirs  the  crown  with  scarce  a  struggle. 
First-fruits  of  the  martyr  throng  ! 

Bethlehem's  streets  are  dark  with  mourning. 

All  is  woe  and  wild  despair  ; 
But  within  the  heavenly  city 

John  beheld  a  vision  fair  : 
Little  ones  with  palms  rejoicing 

In  their  happy,  high  estate, 
Following  with  eager  footsteps 

Christ,  the  Lamb  Immaculate. 

There,  in  that  eternal  country, 
Men  of  peace  have  peace  for  aye ; 

There  the  sword  is  sheathed  for  ever ; 
Foes  are  banished  far  away. 


36    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Here,  Lord,  mortify  within  us 
Vices  which  Thine  eye  offend  : 

Keep  us,  children,  pure  and  holy, 
Constant,  faithful,  to  the  end. 

William  Chatterton  Dix 


WITHIN  THE  OCTAVE  OF  CHRISTMAS 
DAY 

WHEN  Jordan  hushed  his  waters  still, 
And  silence  slept  on  Zion's  hill ; 
When  Salem's  shepherds  through  the  night 
Watched  o'er  their  flocks  by  starry  light, — 

Hark  !  from  the  midnight  hills  around, 
A  voice,  of  more  than  mortal  sound, 
In  distant  hallelujahs  stole. 
Wild  murmuring  o'er  the  raptured  soul. 

Then  swift  to  every  startled  eye. 
New  streams  of  glory  gild  the  sky  ; 
Heaven  bursts  her  azure  gates,  to  pour 
Her  spirits  to  the  midnight  hour. 

On  wheels  of  light,  on  wings  of  flame, 
The  glorious  hosts  to  Zion  came ; 
High  Heaven  with  songs  of  triumph  rung. 
While  thus  they  smote  their  harps  and  sung : 

O  Zion  !  lift  thy  raptured  eye  : 
The  long-expected  hour  is  nigh ; 
The  joys  of  Nature  rise  again ; 
The  Prince  of  Salem  comes  to  reign. 


THE  OCTAVE  OF  CHRISTMAS  DAY     37 

See  Mercy,  from  her  golden  urn, 
Pours  a  rich  stream  to  them  that  mourn ; 
Behold,  she  binds,  with  tender  care. 
The  bleeding  bosom  of  Despair. 

He  comes  to  cheer  the  trembling  heart. 
Bid  Satan  and  his  host  depart ; 
Again  the  Day-star  gilds  the  gloom, 
Again  the  bowers  of  Eden  bloom. 

Thomas  Campbell 


CARRY  me,  Babe,  to  Bethlehem  now. 
For  I  would  look  on  Thee,  my  God! 
Thou  art  alone  my  goal, — and  Thou, 
Thou  to  that  goal  the  only  road. 

From  my  deep  slumbers  bid  me  wake, 

Call  me, — no  evil  shall  betide  me ; 
Give  me  Thy  heavenly  hand  to  guide  me. 

And  I  shall  not  Heaven's  way  mistake. 
So  shall  I  straight  to  Bethlehem  go, 

Where  I  shall  look  on  Thee,  my  God  ! 
Thou  art  alone  my  goal, — and  Thou, 

Thou  to  that  goal  the  only  road. 

Though  I'm  oppressed  with  want  and  woe, 

Though  I  am  clad  in  garments  torn, 
Though  I'm  a  wanderer  lost  and  lorn, 

Guide  me,  my  God  !  where'er  I  go  ! 
Bring  me,  I  pray,  to  Bethlehem  now. 

Where  I  may  look  on  Thee,  my  God  ! 
Thou  art  alone  my  goal, — and  Thou, 

Thou  to  that  goal  my  only  road. 

Sir  John  Bowring 


38    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 


AWAY  with  sorrow's  sigh, 
Our  prayers  are  heard  on  high  ; 
And  through  Heaven's  crystal  door, 
On  this  our  earthly  floor, 
Comes  meek-eyed  Peace  to  walk  with  poor  mortality. 

In  dead  of  night  profound, 
There  breaks  a  seraph  sound 
Of  never-ending  morn ; 
The  Lord  of  glory  born 
Within  a  holy  grot  on  this  our  sullen  ground. 

O  sight  of  strange  surprise 
That  fills  our  gazing  eyes  ! 
A  manger  coldly  strew'd. 
And  swaddling-bands  so  rude, 
A  leaning  mother  poor,  and  child  that  helpless  lies. 

Art  Thou,  O  wondrous  sight, 
Of  lights  the  very  Light, 
Who  holdest  in  Thy  hand 
The  sky  and  sea  and  land, — 
Who  than  the  glorious  heavens  art  more  exceeding 
bright  ? 

'Tis  so  :  Faith  darts  before. 
And,  through  the  cloud  drawn  o'er. 
She  sees  the  God  of  all. 
Where  Angels  prostrate  fall. 
Adoring,  tremble  still,  and  trembling  still  adore. 

Within  us,  Babe  Divine, 

Be  born,  and  make  us  Thine ; 


THE  OCTAVE  OF  CHRISTMAS  DAY     39 

Within  our  souls  reveal 
Thy  love  and  power  to  heal ; 
Be  born,  and  make  our  hearts  Thy  cradle  and  Thy 
shrine. 

Isaac  Williams 


IT  came  upon  the  midnight  clear, 
That  glorious  song  of  old, 
From  Angels  bending  near  the  earth 

To  touch  their  harps  of  gold  : 
"  Peace  on  the  earth,  good-will  to  men 
From  Heaven's  all-gracious  King  !  " 
The  world  in  solemn  stillness  lay 
To  hear  the  Angels  sing. 

Still  through  the  cloven  skies  they  come. 

With  peaceful  wings  unfurled ; 
And  still  their  heavenly  music  floats 

O'er  all  the  weary  world : 
Above  its  sad  and  lowly  plains 

They  bend  on  heavenly  wing, 
And  ever  o'er  its  Babel-sounds 

The  blessed  Angels  sing. 

Yet  with  the  woes  of  sin  and  strife 

The  world  has  suffered  long ; 
Beneath  the  Angel-strain  have  rolled 

Two  thousand  years  of  wrong ; 
And  men,  at  war  with  men,  hear  not 

The  love-song  which  they  bring  : 
Oh  !  hush  the  noise,  ye  men  of  strife, 

And  hear  the  Angels  sing. 

And  ye,  beneath  life's  crushing  load 
Whose  forms  are  bending  low ; 


40    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Who  toil  along  the  climbing  way 
With  painful  steps  and  slow, — 

Look  now !  for  glad  and  golden  hours 
Come  swiftly  on  the  wing  : 

Oh  !  rest  beside  the  weary  road, 
And  hear  the  Angels  sing ! 

For  lo  !  the  days  are  hastening  on, 

By  prophet  bards  foretold, 
When  with  the  ever-circling  years 

Comes  round  the  age  of  gold; 
When  Peace  shall  over  all  the  earth 

Its  ancient  splendours  fling, 
And  the  whole  world  give  back  the  song 

Which  now  the  Angels  sing. 

Edmund  Hamilton  Sears 


SLEEP,  Holy  Babe, 
Upon  Thy  mother's  breast ; 
Great  Lord  of  earth  and  sea  and  sky, 
How  sweet  it  is  to  see  Thee  lie 
In  such  a  place  of  rest ! 

Sleep,  Holy  Babe : 
Thine  Angels  watch  around, 
All  bending  low,  with  folded  wings, 
Before  the  Incarnate  King  of  kings. 
In  reverent  awe  profound. 

Sleep,  Holy  Babe, 

While  I  with  Mary  gaze 
In  joy  upon  that  face  awhile, 
Upon  the  loving  Infant  smile. 

Which  there  divinely  plays. 


THE  CIRCUMCISION  OF  CHRIST    41 

Sleep,  Holy  Babe ; 

Ah  !  take  Thy  brief  repose : 
Too  quickly  will  Thy  slumbers  break, 
And  Thou  to  lengthened  pains  awake, 

That  death  alone  shall  close. 


Then  must  those  hands 

Which  now  so  fair  I  see. 
Those  little  pearly  feet  of  Thine, 
So  soft,  so  delicately  fine. 

Be  pierced  and  rent  for  me. 

Then  must  that  brow 
Its  thorny  crown  receive ; 
That  cheek,  more  lovely  than  the  rose. 
Be  drenched  with  blood,  and  marred  with  blows, 
That  I  thereby  may  live. 

Edward  Caswall 


THE  CIRCUMCISION  OF  CHRIST 

YE  flaming  Powers,  and  winged  warriors  bright, 
That  erst  with  music  and  triumphant  song, 
First  heard  by  happy  watchful  shepherds'  ear, 
So  sweetly  sung  your  joy  the  clouds  along 
Through  the  soft  silence  of  the  listening  night. 
Now  mourn  ;  and  if,  sad  share  with  us  to  bear, 
Your  fiery  essence  can  distil  no  tear. 
Burn  in  your  sighs,  and  borrow 
Seas  wept  from  our  deep  sorrow ; 
He  Who  with  all  Heaven's  heraldry  whilere 
Entered  the  world,  now  bleeds  to  give  us  ease. 
Alas,  how  soon  our  sin 


42    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Sore  doth  begin 
His  infancy  to  seize  ! 
Oh,  more  exceeding  love,  or  law  more  just  ? 
Just  law  indeed,  but  more  exceeding  love  ! 
For  we  by  rightful  doom  remediless 
Were  lost  in  death,  till  He  that  dwelt  above 
High  throned  in  secret  bliss,  for  us  frail  dust 
Emptied  His  glory,  even  to  nakedness ; 
And  that  great  cov'nant  which  we  still  transgress 
Entirely  satisfied. 
And  the  full  wrath  beside 
Of  vengeful  justice  bore  for  our  excess, 
And  seals  obedience  first  with  wounding  smart 
This  day  ;  but  oh,  ere  long 
Huge  pangs  and  strong 

Will  pierce  more  near  His  heart ! 

John  Milton 


HOURS,  and  days,  and  months,  and  years, 
Come  and  go,  arise  and  fall, 
Gains  and  losses,  smiles  and  tears 

Freely  scattered  through  them  all ; 
O  my  Saviour  !  let  them  be 

(Pregnant  with  Thy  life  divine). 
Spent  in  better  serving  Thee, 
And  becoming  wholly  Thine. 

O'er  the  threshold  of  the  year. 

Sprinkled  with  Thy  precious  blood, 
Let  me  draw  to  Thee  more  near. 

Made  by  Thee  more  wise  and  good ; 
O  my  Saviour,  when  this  soul 

Proudly  would  its  way  pursue. 
Let  Thy  sorrow's  soft  control 

Gently  chasten  and  subdue. 


THE  EPIPHANY  43 

For  the  blessed  years  gone  by, 

And  the  joys  which  winged  their  flight, 
For  the  blessed  hopes  on  high. 

Making  all  the  future  bright ; 
For  the  stay  and  strength  Thou  art, 

Ever  wast,  and  still  shalt  be, 
O  my  Saviour,  let  this  heart 

Ring  its  joy-bells  out  to  Thee. 

Let  the  memory  of  the  past 

Shed  its  glow  on  years  to  come. 
Yield  its  wisdom,  and  at  last 

Light  my  wand'ring  footsteps  home  ; 
O  my  Saviour !  with  Thy  blood 

Sprinkle  all  my  future  days. 
Make  them  holy,  keep  them  good. 

Fill  them  with  Thine  endless  praise. 

John  S.  B.  Monsell 


THE  EPIPHANY 

FROM  princely  walls,  in  Eastern  pomp  arrayed. 
They   seek   the   distant   Bethlehem's   lowly 
shade ; 
Faith  leads  the  way,  and  gathers  light,  and  now 
Leans  upon  hope,  which  strengthens  as  they  go. 

What  gladness  crowns  their  steps,  as  now  to  view, 
The  heavenly  messenger  appears  anew ; 
And  o'er  the  roof  the  star  descending  mild, 
Showed  in  the  mother's  arms  the  Holy  Child  ! 

But  yet  no  ivory  here,  no  glowing  gold, 
No  purple  royalties  the  Babe  enfold ; 


44    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

His  palace-hall,  a  stable's  solitude  ! 

His  regal  throne,  a  manger  dark  and  rude  I 

Others  let  kingly  pomp  and  power  adorn, 

His  is  a  better  kingship ;  on  this  morn, 

He,  on  His  poor  straw  pallet  meanly  laid, 

Hath  hearts  of  men  with  viewless  sceptre  swayed. 

Lo  !  at  His  humble  cradle,  on  bent  knee, 
They  in  the  Child  adore  the  Deity ! 
And  to  that  Child,  us  of  that  Gentile  seed, 
And  to  that  humble  cradle,  Faith  shall  lead. 

Love  is  the  gold,  meet  offering  for  a  king ; 
Myrrh  to  the  Son  of  Man  shall  abstinence  bring ; 
And  prayer  shall  be  the  ascending  frankincense, 
Which  owns  our  God  in  veil'd  omnipotence. 

Glory  to  God  the  Father,  fount  of  Light ; 
To  Him,  Who  shone  upon  the  Gentile's  night ; 
And  unto  Him,  well-spring  of  Charity, 
All  equal  in  mysterious  Unity. 

Isaac  Williams 


THE  wise  men  to  Thy  cradle-throne, 
O  Infant  Saviour,  brought,  of  old. 
The  incense  meet  for  God  alone. 
Sharp  myrrh,  and  shining  gold. 

Shine  on  us  too,  sweet  Eastern  Star, 
Thine  own  baptized  Gentile  band. 
Till  we  have  found  our  Lord  from  far, 
An  offering  in  our  hand  ! 


THE  EPIPHANY  45 

Till  we  have  brought  the  fine  gold  rare, 
Of  zeal  that  giveth  all  for  love ; 

Till  we  have  prayed  the  glowing  prayer, 
Like  incense  borne  above ; 

Till  bitter  tears  our  eyes  have  wet, 
Because  our  wilful  hearts  would  err ; 

Worship  and  love  and  sorrow  met, 
Gold,  frankincense,  and  myrrh. 

All  meet  for  Thee,  our  own  adored, 
Our  suffering  Saviour,  God,  and  King ; 

Accept  the  gold  and  incense,  Lord  : 
Accept  the  myrrh,  we  bring. 

Cecil  Frances  Alexander 


SOUGHT  for  Wisdom  in  the  morning  time, 
When  the  sun  cleared  the  hills ;  and  strove  to 

dimb 
Where  I  could  further  see ;  but  all  in  vain 
The  efforts  made :  'twas  but  a  wearying  strain 
At  truth ;  nor  had  of  knowledge  save  the  pain. 

There  rose  a  star  i'  th'  east,  before  'twas  night. 
And  spoke  of  God ;  but  only  spoke  of  might. 

And  height,  and  distance ;  in  a  gathering  mist, 
I  lost  the  star ;  I  could  not  but  persist 
To  seek,  but  how  to  find  it  nothing  wist. 

I  journeyed  long  and  darkly ;  but  at  last 
The  star  appeared ;  and  now  its  beams  were  cast 
On  a  poor  stable,  where,  in  swaddling  bands, 
An  Infant  lay  in  virgin  mother's  hands ; 
Fixed  there  it  stood;  and  fixed  for  me  still 
stands. 


I 


46    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

I  found  where  Wisdom  dwelt ;  and,  in  my  joy, 
Brought  forth  my  gifts ;  gold,  though  it  held  alloy, 
Which  dimmed  its  worth ;  incense  from  forth 

a  breast 
Warm  with  new  love ;  myrrh,  through  all  life 

possessed. 
Fragrant  to  make  the  couch  of  earth's  last 
rest. 

Lord  Kinloch 


THE  FIRST  SUNDAY  AFTER  THE 
EPIPHANY 

WHAT  earth  appeared  to  Angel  eyes 
That  Sabbath  morn  in  Paradise, 
When  man  before  his  Father  stood, 
And  God  beheld  that  all  was  good — 

When  Nature,  guiltless  yet  of  stain, 
Returned  her  Maker's  smile  again, 
And  over  all  created  things 
Lingered  the  Spirit's  brooding  Wings— 

So  fair,  so  fresh,  so  free  from  taint, 
Beyond  all  mortal  skill  to  paint. 
So  calm  in  growing  strength  serene. 
The  Holy  Childhood  must  have  been. 

A  Garden  fed  with  Heavenly  Dew, 
Where  all  things  lovely  bloomed  and  grew, 
Where  knowledge  both  of  good  and  ill, 
But  left  the  heart  more  holy  still. 


FIRST  SUNDAY  AFTER  EPIPHANY     47 

But  vainly  would  we  seek  to  raise 
The  veil  that  shrouds  Christ's  early  days, 
Each  wondrous  Act,  each  Word  sublime 
That  beautified  that  glorious  Prime. 

A  few  brief  lines  of  Sacred  Writ 
Contain  the  whole  we  know  of  it ; 
And  where  the  eye  of  faith  may  see 
The  lowly  Home  of  Galilee, 

Where  daily  in  His  Mother's  sight 
He  grew  in  Wisdom,  and  in  Might ; 
The  path  of  meek  obedience  trod, 
In  favour  both  with  man  and  God. 

Anna  H.  Drury 


WEEK   OF  THE   FIRST   SUNDAY  AFTER 
THE  EPIPHANY 

MONDAY 

HE  grew  in  Wisdom  !  who  can  weigh 
The  meaning  which  those  Words  convey ; 
Or  trace  the  deep  mysterious  line 
Between  the  Human  and  Divine  ? 

We  only  know  the  daily  growth 
Was  that  of  Mind  and  Body  both. 
Until  the  Perfect  Childhood  passed 
Into  the  Perfect  Man  at  last. 

Yet  one  recorded  scene  alone 

A  Glory  o'er  those  years  hath  thrown, 

ReveaUng  to  His  Mother's  Soul 

A  Realm  beyond  her  Love's  control. 


48    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Teaching  both  her,  who  meekly  heard 
And  treasured  every  sacred  Word, 
And  all  His  Church  from  age  to  age, 
Who  read  them  in  the  Gospel  page, 

That  far  above  all  earthly  claim 

Was  that  great  Work  for  which  He  came, 

And  far  beyond  all  earthly  tie. 

The  Sonship  of  His  Deity. 

And  if  to  those  who  love  Him  most 
His  Presence  for  a  while  be  lost, 
And  on  Life's  crowded  road  they  find 
That  they  have  left  their  Lord  behind, 

Let  them  each  erring  step  retrace. 
And  seek  Him  through  His  Means  of  Grace 
Who,  in  His  Father's  House  of  Prayer, 
Still  doth  His  Work  of  Mercy  there. 

Anna  H.  Drury 


TUESDAY 

NIGHT  flies  before  the  orient  morning," 
So  speaks  the  dial's  accents  clear : 
So  better  speaks  the  prophet's  warning 
To  ears  that  hear. 

"  Night  flies  before  the  sun  ascending  " ; 

The  sun  goes  down,  the  shadow  spreads ; 
O  come  the  day  which,  never  ending. 
No  night  succeeds  ! 

And,  see  !  a  purer  day-spring  beaming. 
Unwonted  light ;  nor  moon  nor  sun  ; 
But  Light  itself,  with  glory  streaming, 
God  on  His  Throne. 


FIRST  SUNDAY  AFTER  EPIPHANY     49 

And  thence  the  river  flows  of  gladness, 
And  there  the  tree  of  comfort  grows, 
Which  whoso  tastes,  all  sense  of  sadness, 
All  care,  foregoes. 

O  tree  profuse  of  life  and  healing ; 
O  stream  of  pleasure,  ever  new  ; 
O  day  of  light,  God's  light  revealing, 
Essential,  true  :  — 

For  ye,  for  righteous  men  and  lowly, 

God's  saints,  that  promised  seat  prepare ; 
Nor  impious  aught,  nor  aught  unholy 
Finds  entrance  there  : 

Prompt  ye  my  spirit,  lest  the  slumber 

Of  reckless  sloth  its  pow'rs  enchain  ; 
Or  worldly  lusts  its  course  encumber, 
Or  thoughts  profane. 

Richard  Manx 


WEDNESDAY 

FOR  message  of  the  Written  Word, 
In  every  clime  proclaimed  and  heard, 
And  wondrous  energies  of  thought. 
By  which  its  inner  tones  are  caught, 
Inspirer  of  the  Holy  Page, 
Thy  Church  gives  thanks  from  age  to  age ! 

But  O  !  from  vanity,  that  sw^ells 

The  fooUsh  mind,  wherein  there  dwells 
No  thirst  for  Wisdom,  save  of  earth, 
Untouched  by  aught  of  heavenly  birth. 

Thou,  Who  of  knowledge  hast  the  key 

Hold  us  in  listening  ever  free  ! 


50    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Rather  with  longing  of  desire, 
Wherewith  to  Thee  we  shall  aspire, 
And  meek  humility  of  heart, 
That  knows  to  take  the  scholar's  part, 
O  Student  at  the  Doctors'  feet, 
Endow  Thy  learners,  we  entreat ! 

And  so  with  utterance  of  Thy  will, 
Which  Thou  shalt  help  us  to  fulfil ; 
And  glories  of  Thyself  unveiled. 
By  us  with  answering  fervour  hailed, 
O  Judge,  preparing  for  Thy  Throne, 
Make  us,  before  too  late.  Thine  own  ! 

G.  T.  S.  Farquhar 


THURSDAY 

NOW  take  my  heart  and  all  that  is  in  me, 
My  Lord  beloved,  take  it  from  me  to  Thee 
I  would  have  Thine 
This  soul  and  flesh  of  mine ; 
Would  order  thought  and  word  and  deed 
As  Thy  most  holy  will  shall  lead. 

Thou  feedest  me  with  heavenly  bread  and  wine, 
Thou  pourest  through  me  streams  of  life  divine  ; 
Oh  noble  Face, 
So  sweet,  so  full  of  grace, 
I  ponder  as  Thy  Cross  I  see. 
How  best  to  give  myself  to  Thee. 

Behold,  through  all  the  eternal  ages,  still 
My  heart  shall  choose  and  love  Thy  holy  will ; 
Wouldst  Thou  my  death, 
I  die  to  I'hee  in  faith  ; 


FIRST  SUNDAY  AFTER  EPIPHANY     51 

Wouldst  Thou  that  I  should  longer  live, 
To  Thee  the  choice  I  wholly  give. 

But  Thou  must  also  deign  to  be  my  own, 
To  dwell  in  me,  to  make  my  heart  Thy  throne. 
My  God  indeed, 
My  Help  in  time  of  need. 
My  Head,  from  Whom  no  power  can  sever. 
The  Bridegroom  of  my  soul  for  ever  ! 

Lyra  Germanica 


FRIDAY 

SAVIOUR,  sprinkle  many  nations. 
Fruitful  let  Thy  sorrows  be  ! 
By  Thy  pains  and  consolations. 
Draw  the  Gentiles  unto  Thee. 
Of  Thy  Cross,  the  wondrous  story, 

Be  it  to  the  nations  told ; 
Let  them  see  Thee  in  Thy  glory, 
And  Thy  mercy  manifold. 

Far  and  wide,  though  all  unknowing. 

Pants  for  Thee  each  mortal  breast ; 
Human  tears  for  Thee  are  flowing, 

Human  hearts  in  Thee  would  rest. 
Thirsting,  as  for  dews  of  even. 

As  the  new-mown  grass  for  rain. 
Thee  they  seek,  as  God  of  Heaven, 

Thee,  as  Man,  for  sinners  slain. 

Saviour !  lo,  the  isles  are  waiting, 

Stretch'd  the  hand,  and  strain'd  the  sight. 

For  Thy  Spirit,  new-creating, 

Love's  pure  flame,  and  wisdom's  light ; 


52    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Give  the  word,  and  of  the  preacher 
Speed  the  foot,  and  touch  the  tongue, 

Till  on  earth,  by  every  creature, 
Glory  to  the  Lamb  be  sung. 

Arthur  Cleveland  Coxe 


SATURDAY 

I  ASK  a  perfect  creed  ! 
Oh,  that  to  me  were  given, 
The  teaching  that  leads  none  astray, 
The  scholarship  of  Heaven ! 

Sure  wisdom  and  pure  light, 

With  lowly,  loving  fear ; 
The  steadfast,  ever-looking  eye, 

The  ever-listening  ear. 

Calm  faith  that  grasps  the  word 

Of  Him  Who  cannot  lie ; 
That  hears  alone  the  voice  divine, 

Though  crowds  are  standing  by. 

The  one,  whole  truth  I  seek. 

In  this  sad  age  of  strife  ; 
The  truth  of  Him  Who  is  the  Truth, 

And  in  whose  truth  is  life. 

Truth  which  contains  true  rest ; 

Which  is  the  grave  of  doubt ; 
Which  ends  uncertainty  and  gloom, 

And  casts  the  falsehood  out. 

O  True  One,  give  me  truth  ! 

And  let  it  quench  in  me 
The  thirst  of  this  long-craving  heart, 

And  set  my  spirit  free. 


SECOND  SUNDAY  AFTER  EPIPHANY     53 

O  Truth  of  God,  destroy 

The  cloud,  the  chain,  the  war ; 

Dawn  to  this  stormy  midnight  be, 
My  bright  and  morning  star  ! 

HORATIUS  BONAR 


THE  SECOND  SUNDAY  AFTER  THE 
EPIPHANY 

COME  to  our  joyous  marriage  feast, 
The  bride  has  decked  her  hair, 
The  board  is  full,  the  wine  is  red ; 
Come  forth  our  mirth  to  share. 

Thus  merrily  through  Cana's  town 
Had  the  glad  summons  poured, 

But  had  not  told  what  honoured  Guest 
Should  grace  that  festal  board  ; 

Even  He,  The  God,  for  us  made  Man, 

His  lowly  mother  near. 
Who  sat  and  smiled  upon  the  rite. 

And  blessed  the  bridal  cheer. 

Why  do  the  servants  pause  in  doubt  ? 

The  voice  of  mirth  is  stayed ; 
"  My  Son,  they  have  no  wine  to  drink," 

Softly  the  mother  said. 

Oh  Loving  Lord,  and  Good  to  all, 
He  marked  the  lowly  need. 

Yet  gently  chid  the  eager  voice 
That  urged  His  gracious  deed. 


54    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

"Fill  to  the  brim  the  water  pots." 

And  they  obey  His  sign ; 
They  draw,  they  bear ;  the  clear  pure  wave 

Is  turned  to  rosy  wine. 

No  more  when  Cana's  brides  are  wed 
Christ  comes  the  feast  to  share ; 

But  Christian  hands  may  spread  the  board, 
And  He  will  still  be  there, 

To  hallow  still  our  festive  hours, 

If  chastened  be  our  mirth. 
Such  as  we  had  not  feared  if  He 

Had  looked  on  when  on  earth. 

O  Thou  to  Whom  all  might  and  power 

In  this  wide  earth  belong, 
Changing  her  natural  elements. 

And  making  weak  things  strong ; 

Change  Thou  Thy  children's  sinful  hearts, 

Bless  Thou  their  weak  design ; 
For  man  may  fill  the  water  pot, 

God  makes  the  water  wine. 

Cecil  Frances  Alexander 

r 


WEEK  OF  THE  SECOND  SUNDAY 
AFTER  THE  EPIPHANY 

'    MONDAY 

T  RRESQLUTE,  I  stand  perplext, 
JL     What  pathway  shall  I  follow  next  ? 
Show  me  the  way  that  I  must  take ; 
Show  m'e,  O  Lord,  for  Jesus'  sake. 


/ 
/ 


SECOND  SUNDAY  AFTER  EPIPHANY     55 

He  is  the  upward  way  for  all, 
Upon  whose  steep  ascents  there  fall 
Sweet  lustres  from  the  gates  above, 
The  ever-open  gates  of  love. 

I  know  Him  :  but  when  thus  I  stay, 

And  musing  loiter  time  away, 

A  shadow  dims  that  sacred  light 

Which  shines  to  guide  from  height  to  height. 

Unless  some  earthly  way  I  take, 
I  cannot  heavenward  progress  make  ; 
With  settled  aim  and  conscience  clear, 
What  shall  I  do  ?  how  journey  here  ? 

My  soul  the  untried  seas  would  dare, 
Or  sands  of  every  way-mark  bare, 
Should  but  Thy  voice  distinctly  say, 
"  Go  forward,  soul ;  there  lies  thy  way." 

Say,  "  This  thou  must  do  "  :  such  behest 
Can  make  the  darkest  path  the  best : 
If  but  I  know  my  way  through  time. 
My  soul  those  sunny  steeps  can  cUmb. 

Thomas  Toke  Lynch 


TUESDAY 

JESU,  the  heart's  own  sweetness  and  true  light, 
Thou  art  the  secret  Fountain  that  overflows 
The  weary  soul,  surpassing  all  delight. 

In  Whom  each  anxious  longing  finds  repose. 

Stay  with  us.  Lord,  and  with  Thy  kindly  ray 
Enlighten  our  dark  spirits,  at  whose  birth 

Dark  shades  shall  flee  the  opening  eye  of  day, 
And  sweetness  shall  revive  the  drooping  earth. 


56    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

When  Thou  the  heart  dost  visit  all  things  seem 
Made  new ;  Truth  shines  in  her  unclouded  form, 

Emerging  from  the  world  as  from  a  dream ; 
And  Love,  her  face  beholding,  waxeth  warm. 

Good  Jesus,  while  time's  scroll  I  still  unfold, 
Do  Thou  to  me  Thy  love  make  manifest. 

That  I,  mid  clouds  that  wrap  me,  may  behold 
Thine  everlasting  glory,  and  find  rest. 

He  whom  Thine  oil  makes  glad  as  with  new  wine, 
He  knows  that  knowledge  which  is  from  above ; 

Full  blest  is  he ;  that  fulness  is  divine. 

And  there  is  nothing  else  that  he  can  love. 

Thou  art  the  Fount  of  pity  ;  as  it  flows 
All  drink  of  Thine  abundance  infinite  : 

Thou  art  the  only  lamp  Thy  country  knows ; 
Scatter  the  clouds,  and  show  us  Thy  true  light. 

Isaac  Williams 


WEDNESDAY 

AS  hart  pants  high  for  gushing  rills, 
So  pants  my  soul,  O  God,  to  Thee : 
Deep  eager  thirst  my  bosom  fills 

With  God,  the  living  God,  to  be. 
When  shall  I  dare  again  draw  near  ? 
When  in  ih'  Almighty's  sight  appear  ? 

Tears  are  my  bread  both  night  and  day. 
Long  weary  days  and  nights  of  care. 

While  hourly  to  my  soul  they  say, 

"Where  now  thy  God?  thy  Champion,  where 

Thus  count  I  mournful  thoughts  apart, 

Thus  on  myself  I  pour  my  heart. 


SECOND  SUNDAY  AFTER  EPIPHANY     57 

For  I  would  pass  th'  o'ershading  veil, 
The  curtain  of  the  Lord's  abode, 

Their  way  with  soothing  welcomes  hail 
Who  seek  the  portal  of  my  God, 

With  voice  of  joy  and  thankful  song, 

With  tumult  of  a  festal  throng. 

My  soul,  why  bow'd  and  drooping  go  ? 

Why  restless  o'er  me  moan  and  cry  ? 
Wait  on  the  Lord  :  even  yet  I  know 

My  songs  shall  own  His  guardian  eye. — 
My  God — around  me  cower  and  shrink 
My  fearful  thoughts — behold  I  sink. 

John  Keble 

THURSDAY 

THEREFORE  to  Thee  I  musing  turn 
From  where  I  rove  on  Jordan's  shore, 
And  from  mine  own  low  hill  discern 

The  bright'ning  ridge  of  Hermon  hoar. 

Deep  calls  on  wak'ning  deep,  at  sound 
Of  Thy  dark  wat'ry  pillars  ;  all 

Thy  wild  sea-waves  are  gath'ring  round, 
Thy  breakers  o'er  me  burst  and  fall. 

Yet  God  in  daily  station  set 

His  watchful  love  ;  His  melody 

Comes  nightly  near ;  it  haunts  me  yet, 
God  of  my  life,  my  prayer  to  Thee. 

I  to  the  Lord  will  say.  My  Rock, 

Why  hast  Thou  cast  me  out  of  mind  ? 

Why  go  I  mourning,  for  the  flock 

Of  scorners  to  bear  down  and  bind  ? 


58    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

They  wound,  they  bruise  me  to  the  bone, 

With  spite  and  scorn  around  me  close — 

"  Where  is  thy  God  ?  for  ever  gone  ?  " 
So  cry  all  day  my  thronging  foes. 

Yet  wherefore  droop,  my  heart,  and  why 
So  restless  o'er  me  moan  and  fret  ? 

Trust  God  : — th'  Enlighl'ner  of  mine  eye. 
Mine  own  true  God,  I  praise  Him  yet. 
John  Keble 


FRIDAY 

JUDGE  me,  and  plead  my  cause,  O  God, 
Against  th'  unpitying  kind ; 
Redeem  me  from  the  heart  of  fraud. 
The  faithless,  lawless  mind. 

The  God  of  my  strong  hold  art  Thou, 
Why  hast  Thou  cast  me  off? 

Why  walk  I  still  with  mourning  brow, 
While  foemen  crush  and  scoff? 

O  send  from  Heaven  Thy  truth  and  light, 
And  they  shall  lead  me — they 

Shall  bring  me  to  Thy  holy  height, 
The  tents  of  Thine  array. 

So  to  God's  Altar  my  due  feet 
Th'  unerring  path  may  find  : 

My  God,  my  Joy  when  visions  sweet 
Thrill  keenest  o'er  my  mind  ! 

So  with  my  lyre  Thy  praise  shall  blend, 
O  God,  mine  own  true  God  ! — 

Ah  why,  my  soul,  so  lowly  bend. 
So  hopeless  'neath  the  rod  ? 


SECOND  SUNDAY  AFTER  EPIPHANY     59 

Why  restless  o'er  me  moan  and  fret  ? 

His  time  do  thou  abide  : 
Light  of  mine  eyes,  I  praise  Him  yet, 

Mine  only  God  and  Guide. 

John  Keble 


SATURDAY 

LIFE  !  I  know  not  what  thou  art, 
But  know  that  thou  and  I  must  part ; 

And  when,  or  how,  or  where  we  met 

I  own  to  me's  a  secret  yet. 

But  this  I  know,  when  thou  art  fled, 

Where'er  they  lay  these  limbs,  this  head, 

No  clod  so  valueless  shall  be 

As  all  that  then  remains  of  me. 

O  whither,  whither  dost  thou  fly. 

Where  bend  unseen  thy  trackless  course  ? 
And  in  this  strange  divorce. 

Ah,  tell  where  I  must  seek  this  compound  I  ? 

To  the  vast  ocean  of  empyreal  flame 
From  whence  thy  essence  came 
Dost  thou  thy  flight  pursue,  when  freed 
From  matter's  base  encumbering  weed  ? 
Or  dost  thou,  hid  from  sight. 
Wait,  like  some  spell-bound  knight, 

Through    blank    oblivious    years    th'    appointed 
hour 

To  break  thy  trance  and  reassume  thy  power  ? 

Yet  canst  thou  without  thought  or  feeling  be  ? 

O  say  what  art  thou  when  no  more  thou'rt  thee  ? 
Life  !  we've  been  long  together. 

Through  pleasant  and  through  cloudy  weather ; 

'Tis  hard  to  part  when  friends  are  dear ; 

Perhaps  'twill  cost  a  sigh,  a  tear ; — 


6o    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Then  steal  away,  give  little  warning, 

Choose  thine  own  time ; 
Say  not  Good-night, — but  in  some  brighter  clime 

Bid  me  Good-morning ! 

Anna  Letitia  Barbauld 


THE  THIRD  SUNDAY  AFTER 
THE  EPIPHANY 

THE  flower  that  in  the  lowly  vale, 
Beside  the  old  gray  stone. 
Hides  underneath  her  dark  green  leaves, 
And  blooms  there  all  alone ; 

Her  scented  breath  is  just  as  sweet. 

Her  silken  leaf  as  blue, 
As  though  within  the  garden  ground 

Admired  and  prized  she  grew. 

The  lowly  heart,  the  humble  mind. 
That  shrink  from  human  praise, 

That  wear  away  in  unknown  deeds 
The  measure  of  their  days. 

That  know  themselves  unworthy  all. 
Their  hearts  how  prone  to  ill. 

Unmeet  that  Christ  therein  should  dwell ; 
He  knows  and  loves  them  still. 

As  when  the  lordly  Roman  prayed, 

"  I  am  not  worthy,  Lord," 
He  smiled  upon  his  trembling  faith. 

And  heard  his  humble  word. 


THIRD  SUNDAY  AFTER  EPIPHANY     6i 

He  said  that  little  children  were 

Types  of  humility ; 
How  humble,  then,  and  meek  of  heart, 

His  children  ought  to  be. 

No  swelling  pride,  no  thirst  of  praise. 
Their  little  hearts  should  move ; 

But  humble  prayers  in  meekness  poured, 
And  deeds  of  lowly  love : 

Meek  as  the  flower  that  grows  unmarked 

Where  man  has  never  trod, 
Where  only  Angels  watch  her  bloom 

Beneath  the  eye  of  God. 

Cecil  Frances  Alexander 


WEEK  OF  THE  THIRD  SUNDAY  AFTER 
THE  EPIPHANY 

MONDAY 

THE  sufferer  had  been  heard  to  say, 
*'  I  am  the  unhappiest  in  the  land  "  ; 
But  comforted  went  on  his  way, 
When  Jesus  took  him  by  the  hand. 

The  poor  man  had  been  oft  passed  by 
By  many  people  rich  and  grand ; 

But  found  at  last  prosperity. 

When  Jesus  took  him  by  the  hand. 

The  sinner  in  unpitied  blame 

Was  perishing,  an  outcast  banned  ; 


62    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

But  rose,  and  left  behind  his  shame, 
When  Jesus  took  him  by  the  hand. 

And  many  of  whom  all  men  said, 

"  They've  fallen  never  more  to  stand," 

Have  risen,  though  they  seemed  as  dead, 
When  Jesus  took  them  by  the  hand. 

O  ye,  who  in  the  journey's  length 
Must  often  tread  the  weary  sand, 

Your  fainting  limbs  must  gather  strength 
If  Jesus  takes  you  by  the  hand. 

"  Come  unto  Me,"  the  Saviour  cries. 
Nor  speaks  in  accents  falsely  bland  : 

"  Hard  is  the  way,"  He  says,  "  but  rise  "  : 
And  then  He  takes  us  by  the  hand. 

Thomas  Toke  Lynch 


TUESDAY 

FIRE  is  not  quench'd  with  fire,  and  wrath 
Adds  fuel  to  the  angry  flame ; 
And  whosoe'er  would  tread  the  path 
Of  peace,  must  hasty  passion  tame. 

Art  thou  offended  ?  look  within, 
And  see  how  ye  deserve  rebuke ; 

And  add  not  to  another's  sin. 
By  warm  reply  and  spiteful  look. 

But,  in  the  very  brunt  of  haste. 

By  humble  meekness  ward  the  blow, 

Let  blessings  be  for  curses  placed, 
To  gain  a  friend,  to  lose  a  foe. 


THIRD  SUNDAY  AFTER  EPIPHANY     63 

Let  loving  meekness,  beaming  bright, 
O'er  every  word  and  action  sit ; 

And  let  all  angry,  foul  despite, 
Be  words,  as  'twere,  on  water  writ. 

So  shall  your  store  of  worth  increase, 
Your  brother's  passion  clear  away, — 

So  shall  your  souls  be  throned  in  peace, 
Both  here  and  in  the  eternal  day  ! 

Few  are  the  hours,  and  long  the  path. 

That  leads  through  passing  earth  to  Heaven, 

Then  let  us  turn  away  from  wrath, 
And  all  for  peace  and  love  be  given. 


WEDNESDAY 

OH,  give  thanks  to  Him  that  made 
Morning  light  and  evening  shade  ; 
Source  and  Giver  of  all  good. 
Nightly  sleep  and  daily  food  ; 
Quickener  of  our  wearied  powers. 
Guard  of  our  unconscious  hours. 

Oh,  give  thanks  to  Nature's  King, 
Who  made  every  breathing  thing  : 
His  our  warm  and  sentient  frame. 
His,  the  mind's  immortal  flame  : 
Oh,  how  close  the  ties  that  bind 
Spirits  to  the  Eternal  Mind  ! 

Oh,  give  thanks  with  heart  and  lip, 
For  we  are  His  workmanship  ; 
And  all  creatures  are  His  care  : 


64    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Not  a  bird  that  cleaves  the  air 
Falls  unnoticed  ;  but  who  can 
Speak  the  Father's  love  to  man  ? 

Oh,  give  thanks  to  Him  Who  came 
In  a  mortal,  suffering  frame, — 
Temple  of  the  Deity, — 
Came,  for  rebel  man  to  die ; 
In  the  path  Himself  hath  trod, 
Leading  back  His  saints  to  God. 

JOSIAH   CONDER 


THURSDAY 

AND   feel  I,   Death  !  no  joy  from  thought  of 
thee? 
Death,  the  great  counsellor,  who  man  inspires 
With  every  nobler  thought  and  fairer  deed ! 
Death,  the  deliverer,  who  rescues  man, 
Death,  the  rewarder,  who  the  rescued  crowns  ! 
Death,  that  absolves  my  birth,  a  curse  without  it ! 
Rich  Death,  that  realizes  all  my  cares, 
Toils,  virtues,  hopes ;  without  it  a  chimera  ! 
Death,  of  all  pain  the  period,  not  of  joy  ; 
Joy's  source  and  subject  still  subsist  unhurt. 
One  in  my  soul  and  one  in  her  great  Sire, 
Though  the  four  winds  were  warring  for  my  dust. 
Yes,  and  from  winds  and  waves  and  central  night. 
Though  prisoned  there,  my  dust  I  too  reclaim, 
To    dust    when    drop    proud    Nature's   proudest 

spheres. 
And  live  entire.     Death  is  the  crown  of  life ; 
Were  Death  denied,  poor  man  would  live  in  vain ; 
Were  Death  denied,  to  Hve  would  not  be  life ; 
Were  Death  denied,  e'en  fools  would  wish  to  die. 


THIRD  SUNDAY  AFTER  EPIPHANY     65 

Death   wounds   to   cure :    we  fall :   we  rise :    we 

reign  : 
Spring  from  our  fetters  ;  fasten  in  the  skies. 
When  blooming  Eden  withers  in  our  sight : 
Death  gives  us  more  than  was  in  Eden  lost. 
This  king  of  terrors  is  the  prince  of  peace. 
When  shall  I  die  to  vanity,  pain,  death  ? 
When  shall  I  die  ?     When  shall  I  live  for  ever  ? 

Edward  Young 


FRIDAY 

TIME  is  a  prince  whose  resistless  sway 
Everything  earthly  must  needs  obey  ; 
The  din  of  war,  and  the  tyrant's  frown. 
And  the  shepherd's   crook,   and  the  conqueror's 

crown. 
Palaces,  pyramids,  temples,  towers — 
With  the  falling  leaves,  and  the  fading  flowers, 
And  the  sunset's  flush  and  the  rainbow's  ray — 
At  the  touch  of  Time  all  are  passing  away. 

And  Death,  with  a  passionless,  cloudless  eye, 
And  a  cro\vn  of  frost,  standeth  ever  by  ; 
He  breathes  on  the  brow  of  the  old  and  the  young. 
He  stays  the  heart  and  he  stills  the  tongue ; 
From  the  fetter'd  soul  he  unbinds  the  chain — 
And  the  wave  of  passion,  the  pulse  of  pain, 
And  hope's  fitful  gleam,  and  woe's  hurried  breath, 
Are  all  lapp'd  in  the  glorious  calm  of  Death  ! 

But  Love,  on  his  sun-bright  wings  sublime, 
Floats  above  the  weltering  foam  of  Time  ; 
And  the  power  of  his  paradisal  breath 
Flings  a  flush  of  life  o'er  the  frost  of  Death. 


66    CHURCHMAN^S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Time  shall  pass  like  a  dew-drop  at  dawn  of  day, 
And  Death  like  a  rainbow  shall  fade  away ; 
While  Love  by  the  Word  of  God  shall  be 
The  Sun  of  the  Heaven  of  Eternity  ! 

John  William  Fletcher 


SATURDAY 

FRET  not,  poor  soul :  while  doubt  and  fear 
Disturb  thy  breast, 
The  pitying  Angels,  who  can  see 
How  vain  thy  wild  regret  must  be, 
Say,  Trust  and  Rest. 

Plan  not,  nor  scheme,  but  calmly  wait ; 

His  choice  is  best ; 
While  blind  and  erring  is  thy  sight, 
His  wisdom  sees  and  judges  right ; 

So  Trust  and  Rest. 

Strive  not,  nor  struggle  :  thy  poor  might 

Can  never  wrest 
The  meanest  thing  to  serve  thy  will : 
All  power  is  His  alone  :  Be  still. 

And  Trust  and  Rest. 

Desire  not  :  self-love  is  strong 

Within  thy  breast ; 
And  yet  He  loves  thee  better  still, 
So  let  Him  do  His  loving  will. 

And  Trust  and  Rest. 

What  dost  thou  fear  ?     His  wisdom  reigns 
Supreme,  confessed; 


FOURTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  EPIPHANY    67 

His  power  is  infinite ;  His  love 
Thy  deepest,  fondest  dreams  above — 
So  Trust  and  Rest. 

Adelaide  Anne  Procter 


THE  FOURTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  THE 
EPIPHANY 

NOT  afar  from  surf  and  wave 
Thou  didst  speak  the  word  and  save, 
But  while  tossing  on  the  sea 
Didst  command  tranquillity. 

Not  upon  us  from  the  skies 
Didst  Thou  look  with  happy  eyes, 
But  while  sorrowing  with  us  here 
Thou  didst  shed  the  pitying  tear. 

Not  with  trumpet  from  a  rock 
Didst  Thou  guide  the  battle's  shock, 
But  in  front  of  us  didst  go. 
And  receive  the  heaviest  blow. 

Not  alone  the  just  man's  friend, 
Worthy  lives  didst  Thou  commend  ; 
But  to  those  who  sinned  before 
Saidst  Thou,  "  Go,  and  sin  no  more." 

Thine  the  black  and  bitter  bread. 
Thine  the  busy,  weary  head, 
Thine  the  ready,  aching  feet. 
Thine  the  burden  and  the  heat. 


68    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Worth  the  myriads  of  us, 
Didst  Thou  live  and  labour  thus, 
Saviour,  and  shall  we  refuse 
Everything  that  Thou  didst  choose  ? 
Thomas  Toke  Lynch 


WEEK  OF  THE  FOURTH  SUNDAY 
AFTER  THE  EPIPHANY 

MONDAY 

OTHOU  !  the  Unseen,  the  All-seeing  !     Thou 
Whose  ways 
Mantled  with  darkness  mock  all  finite  gaze, 
Before  Whose  eyes  the  creatures  of  Thy  hand, 
Seraph  and  man,  alike  in  weakness  stand. 
And  countless  ages,  trampling  into  clay 
Earth's  empires  on  their  march,  are  but  a  day  ; 
Father  of  worlds  unknown,  unnumbered  !     Thou 
With  Whom  all  time  is  one  eternal  fiow, 
Who  know'st  no  past   nor   future — Thou  Whose 

breath 
Goes  forth  and  bears  to  myriads  life  or  death. 
Look  on  us,  guide  us  !  wanderers  of  a  sea 
Wild  and  obscure,  what  are  we,  reft  of  Thee  ? 
A  thousand  rocks,  deep  hid,  elude  our  sight, 
A  star  may  set — and  we  are  lost  in  night : 
A  breeze  may  waft  us  to  the  whirlpool's  brink, 
A  treacherous  song  allure  us — and  we  sink  ! 
Oh  !  by  His  love  Who,  veiling  Godhead's  light. 
To  moments  circumscribed  the  Infinite, 
And  Heaven  and  earth  disdained  not  to  ally 
By  that  dread  union — Man  with  Deity ; 


FOURTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  EPIPHANY    69 

Immortal  tears  o'er  mortal  woes  Who  shed, 
And,  ere  He  raised  them,  wept  above  the  dead ; 
Save,  or  we  perish  !     Let  Thy  word  control 
The  earthquakes  of  that  universe — the  soul ; 
Pervade  the  depths  of  passion — speak  once  more 
The  mighty  mandate,  guard  of  every  shore, 
"  Here  shall  thy  waves  be  stayed,"  in  grief,  in  pain. 
The  fearful  poise  of  reason's  sphere  maintain, 
Thou,  by  Whom  suns  are  balanced  ! — Thus  secure 
In  Thee  shall  Faith  and  Fortitude  endure : 
Conscious  of  Thee,  unfaltering  shall  the  just 
Look  upward  still,  in  high  and  holy  trust. 
And,  by  affliction  guided  to  Thy  shrine. 
The  first,  last  thoughts  of  suffering  hearts  be  Thine. 

Felicia  Hemans 


I 


TUESDAY 

THINK  if  thou  couldst  know, 
O  soul  that  will  complain, 
What  lies  conceal'd  below 

Our  burden  and  our  pain  ; 
How  just  our  anguish  brings 
Nearer  those  longed-for  things 
We  seek  for  now  in  vain, — 
I  think  thou  wouldst  rejoice,  and  not  complain. 

I  think  if  thou  couldst  see. 

With  thy  dim  mortal  sight. 
How  meanings  dark  to  thee 

Are  shadows  hiding  light ; 
Truth's  efforts  cross'd  and  vex'd. 
Life  purpose  all  perplex'd, — 

If  thou  couldst  see  them  right, 
I  think  that  they  would  seem  all  clear  and  wise 
and  bright. 


70    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

And  yet  thou  canst  not  know, 
And  yet  thou  canst  not  see ; 
Wisdom  and  sight  are  slow 

In  poor  humanity. 
If  thou  couldst  trusty  poor  soul, 
In  Him  Who  rules  the  whole, 

Thou  wouldst  find  peace  and  rest ; 
Wisdom  and  right  are  well,  but  trust  is  best. 
Adelaide  Anne  Procter 


WEDNESDAY 

OF  what  an  easy  quick  access, 
My     blessed     Lord,  art   Thou !    how 
suddenly 
May  our  requests  Thine  ear  invade  ! 
To  show  that  state  dislikes  not  easiness. 
If  I  but  lift  mine  eyes,  my  suit  is  made ; 
Thou  canst  no  more  not  hear  than  Thou  canst  die. 

Of  what  supreme  almighty  power 
Is  Thy  great  arm,  which  spans  the  east  and  west, 

And  tacks  the  centre  to  the  sphere  ! 
By  it  do  all  things  live  their  measured  hour : 
We  cannot  ask  the  thing  which  is  not  there. 
Blaming  the  shallowness  of  our  request. 

Of  what  unmeasurable  love 
Art  Thou  possessed,  Who,  when  Thou  could'st  not 
die, 

Wert  fain  to  take  our  flesh  and  curse, 
And  for  our  sakes  in  person  sin  reprove ! 
That,  by  destroying  that  which  tied  Thy  purse, 
Thou  might'st  make  way  for  liberality. 


FOURTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  EPIPHANY    71 

Since  then  these  three  wait  on  Thy  throne, 
Ease,  Power,  and  Love ;  I  value  prayer  so, 

That  were  I  to  leave  all  but  one. 
Wealth,  fame,  endowments,  virtues,  all  should  go : 
I,  and  dear  prayer,  would  together  dwell. 
And  quickly  gain,  for  each  inch  lost,  an  ell. 

George  Herbert 


THURSDAY 

I  SHOULD  not  care  how  hard  my  fortunes  were. 
Might  still  my  hopes  be  such,  as  now  they  are, 
Of  help  divine ;  nor  fear  how  poor  I  be. 
If  thoughts  yet  present  still  may  bide  in  me  ; 
For  they  have  left  assurance  of  such  aid, 
That  I  am  of  no  danger  now  afraid. 

Yea,   now   I   see,  methinks,  what  weak   and 
vain 
Supporters  I  have  sought  to  help  sustain 
My  fainting  heart ;  when  some  injurious  hand 
Would  undermine  the  station  where  I  stand. 
Methinks  I  see  how  scurvy  and  how  base 
It  is,  to  scrape  for  favours  and  for  grace 
To  men  of  earthly  minds,  and  unto  those 
Who  may,  perhaps,  before  to-morrow,  lose 
Their  wealth,  or  their  abused  authority, 
And  stand  as  much  in  want  of  help  as  I  ! 

Methinks,  in  this  new  rapture  I  do  see 
The  hand  of  God  from  Heaven  supporting  me. 
Without  those  rotten  aids  for  which  I  whined 
When  I  was  of  my  other,  vulgar  mind ; 
And  if  in  some  one  part  of  me  it  lay, 
I  now  could  cut  that  limb  of  me  away. 
Still  might  1  keep  this  mind,  there  were  enough 
Within  myself  (beside  that  cumbrous  stuff 


72    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

We  seek  without)  which,  husbanded  aright, 
Would  make  me  rich  for  all  the  world's  despite ; 
And  I  have  hopes,  that  had  she  quite  bereft  me 
Of  those  few  rags  and  toys,  which  yet  are  left  me, 
I  should  on  God  alone  so  much  depend 
That  I  should  need  nor  wealth,  nor  other  friend. 

George  Wither 


FRIDAY 

SAY,  from   what  unknown   source,   mysterious 
Nile, 
In   climes   remote,    thy    nurturing    stream   aye 
flows  ? 
Amid  the  burning  waste,  what  emerald  isle 

O'er  thy  blest  birth  delicious  freshness  throws  ? 
Or, — nursed  in  mountain  cave, 
Distils  thy  limpid  wave. 
From  regions  wreathed  with  cloud,  blanched  with 
eternal  snows? 

Silent  art  thou  :  still,  fair  stream,  like  a  thread 

Of  silvery  light  athwart  the  desert  drear. 
Through  fields  of  smiling  plenty  hast  thou  sped 
A  weary  length  of  wilderness  to  cheer. 
Well-pleased,  upon  his  way. 
Such  solace  to  survey. 
The   wanderer   pitched   his   tent,   and  built  him 
cities  here. 

To  other  gods  doth  Pharaoh  lift  his  eyes, 

And  magic  arts  his  reasoning  powers  beguile ; 

For,  sun,  and  moon,  and  stars  he  deifies, 
And  monsters  venomous,  and  reptiles  vile ; 


FOURTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  EPIPHANY    73 

And  when  he  sees  thy  wave 
The  teeming  landscape  lave, 
He  bends  in  impious  awe,  and  worships  thee,  O 
Nile! 

Then  didst  thou  witness  the  avenging  rod, 

Portentous  wave,  athwart  thy  troubled  bed. 
When,  in  defiance  of  an  angry  God, 

An  impious  tyrant  showed  his  haughty  head. 
Thy  conscious  wave  no  more 
Heaven's  tranquil  aspect  wore. 
But,  mantling  o'er  thy  face,  indignant  blushes  spread. 
William  Henry  Charlton 


SATURDAY 

BE  thou  content :  be  still  before 
His  face,  at  Whose  right  hand  doth  reign 
Fulness  of  joy  for  evermore, 

Without  Whom  all  thy  toil  is  vain : 
He  is  thy  living  spring,  thy  sun,  whose  rays 
Make  glad  with  life  and  light  thy  dreary  days : 
Be  thou  content. 

In  Him  is  comfort,  light,  and  grace. 

And  changeless  love  beyond  our  thought ; 

The  sorest  pang,  the  worst  disgrace. 
If  He  is  there  shall  harm  thee  not. 

He  can  lift  off  thy  cross,  and  loose  thy  bands, 

And  calm  thy  fears  ;  nay,  death  is  in  His  hands  : 
Be  thou  content. 

Or  art  thou  friendless  and  alone. 

Hast  none  in  whom  thou  canst  confide  ? 

God  careth  for  thee,  lonely  one  : 
Comfort  and  help  He  will  provide, 


74    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

He  sees  thy  sorrows,  and  thy  hidden  grief, 
He  knoweth  when  to  send  thee  quick  relief : 
Be  thou  content. 

Thy  heart's  unspoken  pain  He  knows, 
Thy  secret  sighs  He  hears  full  well ; 

What  to  none  else  thou  dar'st  disclose, 
To  Him  thou  may'st  with  boldness  tell. 

He  is  not  far  away,  but  ever  nigh, 

And  answereth  willingly  the  poor  man's  cry  : 
Be  thou  content. 


THE  FIFTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  THE 
EPIPHANY 

THE  waving  fields  of  yellow  corn 
Grow  ripe  beneath  the  Autumn  moon 
We  know  the  reaper's  ready  hand 
Will  cut  the  golden  harvest  soon. 

And  there  are  many  bright  green  weeds 
With  spreading  flowers  of  gaudy  hue 

That  grow  together  with  the  grain ; 
The  reaper's  hand  shall  cut  them  too. 

Thus,  even  in  Christ's  Own  Church,  we  see 
The  bad  are  mingled  with  the  good, 

And  men  forsake  their  early  vows 
And  do  not  live  as  Christians  should  ; 

Yet  the  same  sun  is  bright  for  all, 

Earth's  common  gifts  for  all  are  poured ; 

And  so  we  deem  that  God  forgets 
The  promise  of  His  awful  Word. 


FIFTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  EPIPHANY     75 

But  there  shall  come  a  harvest  time, 

When  God's  Own  bands  of  Angels  bright 

Shall  bind  the  golden  sheaves  for  Heaven, 
And  fling  the  weeds  to  endless  night. 

Then  not,  O  Lord,  bad  fruitless  weeds, 

Then  not  to  fire  eternal  cast, 
But  bearing  rich  the  fruits  of  life 

Be  all  Thy  children  found  at  last ! 

Cecil  Frances  Alexander 


WEEK  OF  THE  FIFTH  SUNDAY  AFTER 
THE  EPIPHANY 

MONDAY 

THE  loppbd  tree  in  time  may  grow  again ; 
Most  naked   plants   renew   both   fruit   and 
flower ; 
The  sorriest  wight  may  find  release  of  pain, 
The  driest  soil  suck  in  some  moist'ning  shower : 
Times  go  by  turns,  and  chances  change  by  course, 
From  foul  to  fair,  from  better  hap  to  worse. 

The  sea  of  fortune  doth  not  ever  flow, 
She  draws  her  favours  to  the  lowest  ebb ; 
Her  tides  have  equal  times  to  come  and  go. 
Her  loom  doth  weave  the  fine  and  coarsest  web : 
No  joy  so  great,  but  runneth  to  an  end ; 
No  hap  so  hard,  but  may  in  fine  amend. 

Not  always  full  of  leaf,  nor  ever  spring, 
No  endless  night,  nor  yet  eternal  day  ; 


76    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

The  saddest  birds  a  season  find  to  sing, 
The  roughest  storm  a  calm  may  soon  allay. 
Thus  with  succeeding  turns  God  tempereth  all, 
That  man  may  hope  to  rise,  yet  fear  to  fall. 

Robert  Southwell 


H 


TUESDAY 

E  leads  us  on 

By  paths  we  did  not  know, 
Upward  He  leads  us,  though  our  steps  be  slow ; 
Though  oft  we  faint  and  falter  on  the  way, 
Though  storms  and  darkness  oft  obscure  the  day, 
Yet,  when  the  clouds  are  gone, 
We  know  He  leads  us  on. 

He  leads  us  on 
Through  all  the  unquiet  years ; 
Past  all  our  dreamland  hopes,   and  doubts,  and 

fears 
He  guides  our  steps.     Through   all   the   tangled 

maze 
Of  losses,  sorrows,  and  o'erclouded  days 
We  know  His  will  is  done  ; 
And  still  He  leads  us  on. 

And  He,  at  last, 
After  the  weary  strife, 
After  the  restless  fever  we  call  life, 
After  the  dreariness,  the  aching  pain, 
The  wayward  struggles  which  have  proved  in  vain, 

After  our  toils  are  past — 

Will  give  us  rest  at  last. 

Jane  Borthwick 


FIFTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  EPIPHANY     77 


WEDNESDAY 

HOW  often  on  a  morning  bright, 
Lord,  Whom  we  cannot  see, 
Because  Thou  dwellest  in  the  light, 
We  feel  we  are  with  Thee  ! 

The  sky,  it  is  so  beautiful, 

It  keenly  brings  to  mind 
Our  many  wishes  dutiful. 

Thy  many  bounties  kind. 

And  pleasure  seeks  to  make  us  wise, 

Intenser  for  the  pain 
With  which  these  memories  arise 

Of  wishes  that  were  vain. 

Of  wishes  that  have  hastened  toward 
Thy  work,  yet  would  not  stay ; 

Like  him  who  ran  to  seek  the  Lord, 
Yet  sorrowing  went  away. 

To  be  invited  we  were  glad, 

Yet  glad  to  be  excused ; 
Occasion's  hour  a  welcome  had, 

And  yet  it  passed  unused. 

But  God  in  light  has  come  again, 
And  comforts  though  He  grieves  ; 

For  happiness  is  born  of  pain 
To  him  who  but  believes. 

Through  tangled  thoughts  Thy  mercy  dea 

Shines  with  a  richer  grace  ; 
As  skies  are  seen  more  sweetly  clear 

Through  boughs  that  interlace. 

Thomas  Toke  Lynch 


78    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 


THURSDAY 

ETERNAL  Truth,  almighty,  infinite. 
Only  exiled  from  man's  fleshly  heart. 
Where  ignorance  and  disobedience  fight 

In  hell  and  sin  which  shall  have  greatest  part, 
When  Thy  sweet  mercy  opens  forth  the  light 

Of  grace,  which  giveth  eyes  unto  the  blind, 
And  with  the  law  even  plowest  up  our  sprite 

To  faith,  wherein  flesh  may  salvation  find, 
Thou  bid'st  us  pray,  and  we  do  pray  to  Thee, 

But  as  to  Power,  and  God,  without  us  placed, 
Thinking  a  wish  may  wear  out  vanity. 

Or  habits  be  by  miracles  defaced. 
One  thought  to  God  we  give,  the  rest  to  sin  ; 

Quickly  unbent  is  all  desire  of  good  ; 
True  words  pass  out,  but  have  no  being  within  ; 

We  pray  to  Christ,  yet  help  to  shed  His  blood  ; 
For  while  we  say  believe^  and  feel  it  not. 

Promise  amends,  and  yet  despair  in  it. 
Hear  Sodom  judged,  and  go  not  out  with  Lot, 

Make  law  and  gospel  riddles  of  the  wit, 
We  with  the  Jews  even  Christ  still  crucify. 

As  not  yet  come  to  our  impiety. 

FuLKE  Greville,  Lord  Brooke 


FRIDAY 

WHEN  God  at  first  made  man. 
Having  a  glass  of  blessings  standing  by; 
Let  us  (said  He)  pour  on  him  all  we  can  : 
Let  the  world's  riches,  which  dispersed  lie, 
Contract  into  a  span. 


FIFTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  EPIPHANY     79 

So  strength  first  made  a  way ; 
Then  beauty  flow'd,  then  wisdom,  honour,  pleasure: 
When  almost  all  was  out,  God  made  a  stay. 
Perceiving  that  alone  of  all  His  treasure 
Rest  in  the  bottom  lay. 

For  if  I  should  (said  He) 
Bestow  this  jewel  also  on  My  creature, 
He  would  adore  My  gifts  instead  of  Me, 
And  rest  in  Nature,  not  the  God  of  Nature. 
So  both  should  losers  be. 

Yet  let  him  keep  the  rest, 
But  keep  them  with  repining  restlessness  : 
Let  him  be  rich  and  w^eary,  that  at  least 
If  goodness  lead  him  not,  yet  weariness 
May  toss  him  to  My  breast. 

George  Herbert 


SATURDAY 

I  LIKE  that  ancient  Saxon  phrase  which  calls 
The  burial  ground  God's  acre  !     It  is  just; 
It  consecrates  each  grave  within  its  walls, 

And  breathes  a  benison  o'er  the  sleeping  dust. 

God's  acre  !     Yes,  that  blessed  name  imparts 
Comfort  to  those,  who  in  the  grave  have  sown 

The  seed  that  they  have  garnered  in  their  hearts. 
Their  bread  of  life,  alas  !  no  more  their  own. 

Into  its  furrows  shall  we  all  be  cast, 

In  the  sure  faith  that  we  shall  rise  again 

At  the  great  harvest,  when  the  Archangel's  blast 
Shall  winnow,  like  a  fan,  the  chaff  and  grain. 


8o    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Then  shall  the  good  stand  in  immortal  bloom, 
In  the  fair  gardens  of  that  second  birth  ; 

And  each  bright  blossom  mingle  its  perfume 
With  that  of  flowers  which  never  bloomed  on 
earth. 

With  thy  rude  ploughshare,  Death,   turn  up  the 
sod, 
And  sink  the  furrow  for  the  seed  we  sow ; 
This  is  the  field  and  acre  of  our  God  : 

This  is  the  place  where  human  harvests  grow  ! 
H.  W.  Longfellow 


THE  SIXTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  THE 
EPIPHANY 

WE  see  the  leaves  fall  withered  from  the  trees, 
And,  year  by  year,  the  sweet  flowers  fade 
away. 
They  wither  in  the  sharp  Autumnal  breeze  ; — 
Has  man  no  higher,  holier  hope  than  they  ? 

Frail  as  the  gentle  flower  we  see  him  die, 
The  bright  eye  closes,  and  the  failing  breath 

Heaves  not  the  lip  with  its  accustomed  sigh  ; — 
Hath  he  no  hope,  no  comfort  in  his  death  ? 

O  yes,  the  fair  leaves  falling  where  we  tread 
Shall  clothe  the  waving  forest  trees  no  more ; 

But  man  shall  rise  immortal,  from  the  dead, 
Passing    through    death    as   through  an    open 
door — 


SIXTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  EPIPHANY     8i 

An  open  door,  through  which  faint  glimpses  come 
Of  the  bright  joys  that  blessed  spirits  find  ; 

For  Holy  Scripture  says,  our  Heavenly  Home 
Is  fairer  far  than  all  we  leave  behind. 

If  then  the  Christianas  hope  so  glorious  be, 
Should  not  the  Christian  purify  his  heart 

To  fit  him  for  that  Angel  company 

Wherewith  he  hopes  hereafter  to  have  part  ? 

And  more  than  Angels  holy,  pure,  and  high, 
There's  One  Who  left  for  us  those  realms  of 
bliss, 
Who  won  our  places  in  that  glorious  sky, 
And  said  our  hearts  must  be  made  pure  like 
His. 

And  in  that  Heaven  His  children  hold  of  Him, 
Himself  shall  to  His  faithful  Saints  be  near. 

Then  let  not  our  high  hope  grow  faint  and  dim 
But  let  us  follow  in  His  footsteps  here. 

Cecil  Frances  Alexander 


WEEK  OF  THE  SIXTH  SUNDAY  AFTER 
THE  EPIPHANY 

MONDAY 

WHEN  up  to  nightly  skies  we  gaze. 
Where  stars  pursue  their  endless  ways. 
We  think  we  see  from  earth's  low  clod 
The  wide  and  shining  Home  of  God. 


82    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

But  could  we  rise  to  moon  or  sun, 
Or  path  where  planets  duly  run, 
Still  Heaven  would  spread  above  us  far, 
And  earth  remote  would  seem  a  star. 

This  earth  with  all  its  dust  and  tears 
Is  His  no  less  than  yonder  spheres  ; 
And  raindrops  weak,  and  grains  of  sand, 
Are  stamped  by  His  immediate  hand. 

The  rock,  the  wave,  the  little  flower, — 
All  fed  by  streams  of  living  power 
That  spring  from  one  Almighty  Will, — 
Whate'er  His  thought  conceives  fulfil. 

We  view  those  halls  of  painted  air. 

And  own  Thy  presence  makes  them  fair ; 

But  nearer  still  to  Thee,  O  Lord, 

Is  he  whose  thoughts  with  Thine  accord. 

John  Sterling 


TUESDAY 

IF  as  a  flower  doth  spread  and  die. 
Thou  wouldst  extend  me  to  some  good, 
Before  I  were  by  frost's  extremity 
Nipt  in  the  bud  ; 

The  sweetness  and  the  praise  were  Thine ; 
But  the  extension  and  the  room 
Which  in  Thy  garland  I  should  fill  were  mine 
At  Thy  great  doom. 

For  as  Thou  dost  impart  Thy  grace. 
The  greater  shall  our  glory  be. 


SIXTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  EPIPHANY     83 

The  measure  of  our  joys  is  in  this  place, 
The  stuff  with  Thee. 

Let  me  not  languish  then,  and  spend 
A  life  as  barren  to  Thy  praise. 
As  is  the  dust,  to  which  that  life  doth  tend 
But  with  delays. 

All  things  are  busy ;  only  I 
Neither  bring  honey  with  the  bees. 
Nor  flowers  to  make  that,  nor  the  husbandry 
To  water  these. 

I  am  no  link  of  Thy  great  chain, 
But  all  my  company  is  a  weed. 
Lord,  place  me  in  Thy  concert ;  give  one  strain 
To  my  poor  reed. 

George  Herbert 


WEDNESDAY 

OPEN  thyself,  and  then  look  in  ; 
Consider  what  thou  mightst  have  been. 
And  what  thou  art  now  made  by  sin. 

Asham'd  o'  the  state  to  which  thou'rt  brought. 
Detest,  and  grieve  for  each  past  fault ; 
Sigh,  weep,  and  blush  for  each  foul  thought. 

Fear,  and  despair  not ;  but  still  love  ; 
Look  humbly  up  to  God  above, 
And  Him  thou'lt  soon  to  pity  move. 

Resolve  on  that  which  prudence  shows  ; 
Perform  what  thou  dost  well  propose; 
And  keep  i'  the  way  thou  once  hast  chose. 


84    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Vice,  and  what  looks  like  vicious,  shun  ; 
Let  use  make  good  acts  easily  done  : 
Have  zeal,  as  when  thou  first  begun. 

Hope  strongly,  yet  be  humble  still  : 
Thy  good  is  God's  ;  what's  thine,  is  ill : 
Do  thus,  and  thee  affect  He  will. 

Pray,  when  with  others  ;  when  alone. 
To  scorn,  or  praise,  be  as  a  stone : 
Forget  thyself,  and  all — but  One. 

Remove  what  stands  'twixt  God  and  thee : 
Use  not  thy  fancy  Him  to  see  : 
One  with  His  will  make  thy  will  be. 

Patrick  Carey 


THURSDAY 

SWIFT   o'er   the   desert   plains  the   wild  wind 
sweeps ; 
Swift  o'er  the  sea  that  heaves  beneath  its  power  ; 
And  steady  flight  o'er  fairest  scenes  it  keeps, 

Tho'  perfume  breathes  from  every  sunlit  bower ; 
Earth  knows  no  charm  its  onward  course  to  stay ; 
It  takes  no  rest,  it  passeth  on  alway. 

Lord,  are  we  likened  to  this  fleeting  wind  ? 

To  quit  this  earthly  life  we  do  not  grieve ; 
But  must  the  yearning  spirit  leave  behind 

The  dear  and  true  whom  it  is  death  to  leave  ? 
Sure,  our  strong  hearts'  deep  love  can  never  fail 
As  part  and  break  the  clouds  before  the  gale. 


SIXTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  EPIPHANY     85 

Only  the  mortal  frame  can  fade  and  die ; 

All  that  is  worthy  of  a  spirit's  love 
Shall  cleave  to  us  throughout  eternity, 

Shall  dwell  with  us  in  far  bright  worlds  above : 
Here  if  pains,  partings,  sorrows,  cares  molest, 
Swift  flight  is  ours — before  us  lies  our  rest. 

Here  are  we  severed  far ;  Thou  seest,  Lord, 
How  each  in  lonely  course  is  onward  driven. 

Thy  righteousness.  Thy  love,  Thy  strength  afford, 
So  shalt  Thou  gather  us  to  meet  in  Heaven : 

And  us,  Thy  wandering  winds,  Thou  then  shalt  own, 

Hush'd  into  still  pure  air,  around  Thy  Throne. 

F.  V.  FOSBERY 


FRIDAY 

NOT  as  He  was,  a  houseless  stranger. 
With  no  home  to  shield  His  head, 
Not  as  seen  in  Bethlehem's  manger, 
Where  the  horned  oxen  fed. 

Not  as  in  the  garden  groaning, 
Plunged  in  deep  mysterious  woe, 

All  the  guilt  of  man  bemoaning. 

While  the  precious  blood-sweats  flow. 

Not  as  seen  on  Calvary's  mountain. 
Where  He  offered  up  His  soul. 
Opening  wide  that  sacred  fountain 
Which  alone  can  make  us  whole. 

Not  as  He  was,  a  pale  and  breathless 
Captive  in  the  shades  beneath. 

But  as  He  is,  immortal,  deathless. 
Conqueror  o'er  the  powers  of  death  ! 


86    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Yes,  we  shall  see  Him  in  our  nature, 

Seated  on  His  lofty  Throne, 
Loved,  adored  by  every  creature, 

Own'd  as  God,  and  God  alone  ! 

There  countless  hosts  of  shining  spirits 
Strike  their  harps,  and  loudly  sing 

To  the  praise  of  Jesus'  merits. 
To  the  glory  of  their  King  ! 

When  we  pass  o'er  death's  dark  river, 

We  shall  see  Him  as  He  is, 
Resting  in  His  love  and  favour, 

Owning  all  the  glory  His. 

There  to  cast  our  crowns  before  Him, 
O  !  what  bliss  the  thought  affords  ! 

There  for  ever  to  adore  Him, — 
King  of  kings,  and  Lord  of  lords  ! 

Mary  Pvper 


SATURDAY 

THE  God  of  Nature  and  of  Grace 
In  all  His  works  appears  ; 
On  earth  His  goodness  we  can  trace, 
His  grandeur  in  the  spheres. 

Behold  this  fair  and  fertile  globe, 
By  Him  in  wisdom  planned  ; 

'Twas  He  Who  girded  like  a  robe 
The  ocean  round  the  land. 

Lift  to  the  firmament  your  eye, 
Thither  God's  path  pursue ; 

His  glory,  boundless  as  the  sky, 
O'erwhelms  the  wondering  view. 


SEPTUAGESIMA  SUNDAY  87 

The  forests  in  His  strength  rejoice ; 

Hark  !  how  on  th'  evening  breeze, 
As  once  of  old,  the  Lord  God's  voice 

Is  heard  among  the  trees. 

Here  on  the  hills  He  feeds  His  herds. 

His  flocks  on  yonder  plains ; 
His  praise  is  warbled  by  the  birds ; 

Would  we  could  catch  their  strains ! 

In  every  stream  His  bounty  flows, 

Diffusing  joy  and  wealth ; 
In  every  breeze  His  spirit  blows 

The  breath  of  life  and  health. 

Let  wisdom  then  God's  wisdom  trace  : — 

For  such  our  God  will  love, 
Who  make  their  hearts  a  dwelling  place 

For  wisdom  from  above. 

James  Montgomery 


SEPTUAGESIMA  SUNDAY 

WHAT  men  call  Nature  is  a  Thought  Divine, 
The  Infinite  in  forms  of  finite  grace ; 
Where  all  perfections  seen  in  God  combine 
To  make  this  earth  a  consecrated  place. 

Th'  unwritten  Bible  of  the  woods  and  fields 
By  Love  perused,  and  ponder'd  o'er  by  prayer, 

A  very  Gospel  to  the  Poet  yields. 
Who  walks  creation,  knowing  Christ  is  there. 


88    CHURCHiMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Nothing  is  mean,  by  Power  celestial  raade, 

And  nought  is  worthless,  by  His  wisdom  plann'd. 

Who  fashion'd  all,  that  Faith  may  find  display'd 
The  holy  impress  of  God's  master-hand. 

Oh,  could  we  hail  the  element  divine, 

That  circles  round  whatever  lives  or  moves, 

A  mystic  radiance  would  o'er  all  things  shine, 
And  teach  the  coldest  how  the  Godhead  loves  ! 

One  vast  cathedral,  with  its  roof  of  sky. 
The  earth  becomes  to  reverential  souls, 

When,  deepen'd  by  such  felt  divinity, 

Our  heart-breathed  hymn  of  ceaseless  worship 
rolls. 

But  like  a  cloud  doth  sensual  dimness  hide 
The  heaven-born  glories  that  around  us  gleam, 

While  min'st'ring  Angels  to  and  fro  may  glide, 
And  yet  not  wake  us  from  our  worldly  dream. 

Lord  !  may  Thy  Spirit  to  our  spirit  lend 
A  princely  heart  of  innocence  and  prayer, 

Whose  unction  shall  the  sacred  feeling  send. 
That  proves  at  every  pulse  our  God  is  there. 
Robert  Montgomery 


MONDAY  AFTER  SEPTUAGESIMA 

F^ROM  out  all  Nature  is  one  common  voice. 
Unchanging  and  unchanged,  for  ever  heard, 
Singing,  "  In  God  alone  let  all  rejoice," 

Like  some  sweet  harp  by  one  strong  impulse 
stirr'd. 


TUESDAY  AFTER  SEPTUAGESIMA     89 

So  sang  the  sinless  world,  when  new-bom  light 
Threw  holy  shadows  on  a  new-born  earth  : 

So  echoed  back  the  first  star-spangled  night, 
Chanting  sweet  anthems  of  its  heavenly  birth. 

Earth,  sea,  and  sky  proclaim  the  holy  truth, 

The  universe,  a  temple  open  wide — 
Where  Nature,  priestess  sacred,  from  her  youth 
For  ever  sings  the  song  beatified. 

The  sun  and  moon,  unfading  lights,  still  shine. 
With  all  the  lesser  glories  of  the  sky ; 

The  changing  seasons,  acolyths  di\nne, 
Attend  upon  the  great  festivity. 

From  many  an  altar,  undisturbed  and  still — 

Sweet  shrines  so  calm,  through  many  a  troublous 
age 
Unfound  by  man — the  incense-flowers  nil 

The  air  with  scent  through  their  short  pilgrimage. 

All  telling  the  same  truth — their  simple  creed, 
The  type  of  that  which  saints  and  mart)Ts  teach 

By  many  a  noble  act  and  sacred  deed 

And  sufferings  more  eloquent  than  speech. 

T.  Marsland  Hopkins 


TUESDAY  AFTER  SEPTUAGESIMA 

THE  turf  shall  be  my  fragrant  shrine, 
My  temple.  Lord  '.  that  arch  of  Thine, 
My  censer's  breath  the  mountain  airs, 
And  silent  thoughts  my  only  prayers. 

My  choir  shall  be  the  moonlight  waves, 
When  murmuring  homeward  to  their  caves, 


90    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Or  when  the  stillness  of  the  sea, 

E'en  more  than  music,  breathes  of  Thee  ! 

I'll  seek  by  day  some  glade  unknown, 
All  light  and  silence  like  Thy  Throne, 
And  the  pale  stars  shall  be,  at  night. 
The  only  eyes  that  watch  my  rite. 

Thy  heaven,  on  which  'tis  bliss  to  look, 
Shall  be  my  pure  and  shining  book. 
Where  I  shall  read,  in  words  of  flame, 
The  glories  of  Thy  wondrous  Name. 

I'll  read  Thy  anger  in  the  rack 

That  clouds  awhile  the  day-beam's  track  : 

Thy  mercy  in  the  azure  hue 

Of  sunny  brightness,  breaking  through  ! 

There's  nothing  bright  above,  below. 
From  flowers  that  bloom  to  stars  that  glow, 
But  in  its  light  my  soul  can  see 
Some  feature  of  Thy  Deity  ! 

There's  nothing  dark  below,  above. 
But  in  its  gloom  I  trace  Thy  love ; 
And  meekly  wait  that  moment  when 
Thy  touch  shall  turn  all  bright  again. 

Thomas  Moore 


WEDNESDAY  AFTER  SEPTUAGESIMA 

SINCE  o'er  Thy  footstool  here  below 
Such  radiant  gems  are  strewn, 
Oh,  what  magnificence  must  glow. 
My  God,  about  Thy  Throne  ! 


THURSDAY  AFTER  SEPTUAGESIMA     91 

So  brilliant  here  those  drops  of  light, — 
There  the  full  ocean  rolls,  how  bright ! 

If  night's  blue  curtain  of  the  sky 
With  thousand  stars  inwrought, 

Hung  like  a  royal  canopy 

With  glittering  diamonds  fraught, 

Be,  Lord,  Thy  temple's  outer  veil, 

What  splendour  at  the  shrine  must  dwell ! 

The  dazzling  sun  at  noontide  hour, 

Forth  from  his  flaming  vase, 
Flinging  o'er  earth  the  golden  shower, 

Till  vale  and  mountain  blaze, 
But  shows,  O  Lord  !  one  beam  of  Thine  : 
What,  then,  the  day  where  Thou  dost  shine  ! 

Ah  !  how  shall  these  dim  eyes  endure 

That  noon  of  living  rays. 
Or  how  my  spirit  so  impure 

Upon  Thy  glory  gaze  ? 
Anoint,  O  Lord  !  anoint  my  sight. 
And  robe  me  for  that  world  of  light. 

W.  A.  Muhlenberg 


THURSDAY  AFTER  SEPTUAGESIMA 

THE  stately  heavens,  which  glory  doth  array. 
Are  mirrors  of  God's  admirable  might ; 
There,  whence  forth  spreads  the  night  forth  springs 

the  day ! 
He  fix'd  the  fountains  of  this  temporal  light, 


92    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Where   stately  stars   install'd,  some   stand,   some 

stray, 
All  sparks  of  His  great  power  (though  small,  yet 

bright), 
By  what  none  utter  can,  no,  not  conceive. 
All  of  His  greatness,  shadows  may  perceive. 

What  glorious  lights  through  crysUl  lanterns  glance, 
(As  always  burning  with  their  Maker's  love ;) 
Spheres  keep  one  music,  they  one  measure  dance, 
Like  influence  below,  like  course  above ; 
And  all  by  order  led,  not  drawn  by  chance, 
With  majesty,  as  still  in  triumph  move. 
And,  liberal  of  their  store,  seem  shouting  thus, 
"  Look  up  all  souls,  and  gaze  on  God  through  us." 

God  visibly  invisible  Who  reigns. 
Soul  of  all  souls.  Whose  light  each  light  directs. 
All  first  did  freely  make,  and  still  maintains. 
The  greatest  rules,  the  meanest  not  neglects; 
Foreknows  the  end  of  all  that  He  ordains, 
His  will  each  course,  each  course  breeds  fit  effects  ; 
Who  did  make  all,  all  thus  could  only  lead, 
None  could  make  all,  but  Who  was  never  made. 
William  Alexander,  Earl  of  Stirling 


FRIDAY  AFTER  SEPTUAGESIMA 

YE  quenchless  stars  !  so  eloquently  bright, 
Untroubled  sentries  of  the  shadowy  night. 
While  half  the  world  is  lapp'd  in  downy  dreams, 
And  round  the  lattice  creep  your  midnight  beams, 
How  sweet  to  gaze  upon  your  placid  eyes, 
In  lambent  beauty  looking  from  the  skies ! 


SATURDAY  AFTER  SEPTUAGESIMA     93 

And  when,  oblivious  of  the  world,  we  stray 
At  dead  of  night  along  some  noiseless  way, 
How  the  heart  mingles  with  the  moonlit  hour, 
As  if  the  starry  heavens  suffused  a  power  ! 
Full  in  her  dreamy  hght,  the  moon  presides, 
Shrined  in  a  halo,  mellowing  as  she  rides ; 
And  far  around,  the  forest  and  the  stream 
Bathe  in  the  beauty  of  her  emerald  beam  ; 
The  lull'd  winds  too,  are  sleeping  in  their  caves, 
No  stormy  murmurs  roll  upon  the  waves  ; 
Nature  is  hush'd,  as  if  her  works  adored, 
Still'd  by  the  presence  of  her  living  I-ord  ! 
And  now,  while  through  the  ocean-mantling  haze 
A  dizzy  chain  of  yellow  lustre  plays. 
And  moonhght  loveliness  hath  veil'd  the  land, 
Go,  stranger,  muse  thou  by  the  wave- worn  strand  : 
Centuries  have  glided  o'er  the  balanced  earth. 
Myriads  have  bless'd,  and  myriads  curs'd  their  birth. 
Still,  yon  sky-beacons  keep  a  dimless  glare, 
Unsullied  as  the  God  Who  throned  them  there ! 
Though  swelling  earthquakes  heave  the  astounded 

world, 
And  king  and  kingdom  from  their  pride  are  hurled, 
Sublimely  calm,  they  run  their  bright  career, 
Unheedful  of  the  storms  and  changes  here. 
We  want  no  hymn  to  hear,  or  pomp  to  see, 
For  all  around  is  deep  Divinity ! 

Robert  Montgomery 


SATURDAY  AFTER  SEPTUAGESIMA 

MY  soul  is  like  a  bird,  my  flesh  the  cage, 
Wherein  she  wears  her  weary  pilgrimage 
Of  hours,  as  few  as  evil,  daily  fed 
With  sacred  wine  and  sacramental  bread ; 


94    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

The  keys  that  lock  her  in  and  let  her  out, 

Are  birth  and  death ;  'twixt  both  she  hops  about 

From  perch  to  perch,  from  sense  to  reason ;  then 

From  higher  reason  down  to  sense  again : 

From  sense  she  climbs  to  faith ;  where  for  a  season 

She  sits  and  sings ;  then  down  again  to  reason  : 

From  reason  back  to  faith,  and  straight  from  thence 

She  rudely  flutters  to  the  perch  of  sense  : 

From   sense  to  hope ;  then  hops   from  hope  to 

doubt. 
From  doubt  to  dull  despair  ;  there  seeks  about 
For  desp'rate  freedom,  and  at  ev'ry  grate 
She  wildly  thrusts,  and  begs  the  untimely  date 
Of  th'  unexpired  thraldom,  to  release 
The  afflicted  captive,  that  can  find  no  peace. 
Thus  am  I  coop'd ;  within  this  fleshly  cage 
I  wear  my  youth,  and  waste  my  weary  age ; 
Spending  that  breath,  which  was  ordain'd  to  chant 
Heav'n's  praises  forth,  in  sighs  and  sad  complaint. 

Francis  Quarles 


SEXAGESIMA  SUNDAY 

ERST  in  Eden's  happy  garden 
Grew  the  golden  Tree  of  Life, 
None  who  eat  it  pined  or  perish'd, 
Knew  of  sin,  or  care,  or  strife; 
For  the  Word  of  God  had  made  it 

To  the  pure  Eternal  Food. 
Daily  bread  for  Life's  renewal 
To  the  faithful  and  the  good. 

Hard  by  grew  the  Tree  of  Knowledge, 
Duty's  test  man's  trust  to  try. 


MONDAY  AFTER  SEXAGESIMA      95 

And  give  zest  to  mere  enjoyment 

By  some  proof  of  fealty  : 
Life  to  life — of  one  the  savour, 

Death  to  death — the  other's  bane, 
Love's  obedience — with  its  pleasure, 

Disobedience — with  its  pain. 


Eating  of  the  Tree  of  Knowledge 

Death  on  Life  insidious  stole, 
Through  the  body  the  infection 

Pass'd  like  poison  to  the  soul : 
Yet  ^twas  not  the  fruit's  corruption 

Stay'd  Life's  pulse  or  stopt  its  breath, 
'Twas  the  soul's  dark  Disobedience 

Made  that  Sacrament  of  Death. 

Eating  of  Life's  Tree  Eternal 

Makes  the  dying  sinner  whole, 
Through  the  body  Life's  renewal 

Comes  with  healing  to  the  soul : 
Yet  the  body's  mere  fruition 

Stays  not  Death,  nor  stops  its  strife ; 
'Tis  the  soul's  devout  Obedience 

Takes  that  Sacrament  of  Life. 

John  S.  B.  Monsell 


MONDAY  AFTER  SEXAGESIMA 

O  BLESSING,  wearing  semblance  of  a  curse, 
We  fear  thee,  thou  stern  sentence — yet  to  be 
Linked  to  immortal  bodies  were  far  worse 
Than  thus  to  be  set  free. 


96    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

For,  mingling  with  the  Hfe-blood,  thro'  each  vein 
The  venom  of  the  serpent's  bite  has  run, 

And  only  thus  might  be  expelled  again, 
Thus  only  health  be  won. 


Shall  we  not  then  a  gracious  sentence  own. 
Now  since  the  leprosy  has  fretted  through 

The  entire  house,  that  Thou  wilt  take  it  down, 
And  build  it  all  anew  ? 


Build  it  this  time  (since  Thou  wilt  build  again) 
An  holy  house  where  righteousness  may  dwell ; 

And  we,  though  in  the  unbuilding  there  be  pain. 
We  still  affirm— 'Tis  well. 

Richard  Chenevix  Trench 


TUESDAY  AFTER  SEXAGESIMA 

THE  Tree  of  Life  in  Eden  stood 
With  mystic  Fruits  of  Heavenly  Food, 
Which  endless  life  afford, — 
That  Life,  by  man's  transgression  lost : — 
Cast  out  is  man  by  Angel-host : 
Until  by  Man  restored. 

In  vain  the  lambs  poured  forth  their  blood  ; 
In  vain  the  smoking  altars  stood  ; 

All  unatoned  was  sin  : 
Must  greater  be  the  sacrifice 
Before  the  gate  of  Paradise 

Can  let  the  fallen  in  ? 


WEDNESDAY  AFTER  SEXAGESIMA     97 

The  Lord  of  Life  His  Life  must  give 
That  man  an  endless  Life  may  live, 

And  death's  dark  doom  reverse. 
The  Cross  is  made  the  mystic  Tree, 
The  Blood  that  flowed  on  Calvary 

Hath  washed  away  the  curse. 

Now  Eden's  gate  is  ope'd  once  more ; 
The  guardian  Angel's  watch  is  o'er, 

And  sheathed  the  flaming  sword  : 
The  Tree  of  Life  now  blooms  afresh, 
Its  precious  Fruit  the  very  Flesh 

Of  the  Incarnate  Word. 

Edwin  L.  Blenkinsopp 


WEDNESDAY  AFTER  SEXAGESIMA 

SENT  from  the  ark,  the  dove,  with  timid  flight. 
Strove  through  the   storms,    yet  found  not 
where  to  light ; 
Pursued  by  winds  o'er  restless  ocean's  roar. 
Back  to  the  flood-tossed  crew  no  leaf  she  bore : 
So  through  the  past  man's  tempest-driven  mind, 
Sent  fancy  forth  some  resting-place  to  find ; 
O'er  bush,  tree,  hill,  she  winged  her  trackless  w^ay, 
Nor  foothold  found  her  weary  flight  to  stay ; 
Back  o'er  the  sea  on  terror-haunted  air, 
She  flew,  to  tell  the  tidings  of  despair  ; 
Again  she  flies  for  fairer  forms  to  seek. 
And  lo  !  the  olive  borne  upon  her  beak  ! 
Hear  her  glad  news, — she  rested  on  the  tomb, 
Saw  the  dawn  break,  and  flit  the  ancient  gloom  ! 
Through  night  she  swept,  and  heard  the  gentle  fall 
Of  Angel  footsteps  in  its  silent  hall ; 


98    CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Upborne  from  earth,  in  strong  and  joyous  flight, 
Fearless  she  sought  the  empyrean  height, 
Gazed  on  the  source  whence  pours  the  living  ray, 
On  earth's  time-shadows,  God's  eternal  day. 

John  Brooks  Fellon 


THURSDAY  AFTER  SEXAGESIMA 

THREE  worlds  there  are  : — the  first  of  Sense- 
That  sensuous  earth  which  round  us  lies ; 
The  next  of  Faith's  Intelligence  : 
The  third  of  Glory  in  the  skies. 

The  first  is  palpable,  but  base  : 

The  second  heavenly,  but  obscure ; 

The  third  is  star-like  in  the  face — 
But  ah  !  remote  that  world  as  pure  ! 

Yet,  glancing  through  our  misty  clime. 
Some  sparkles  from  that  loftier  sphere 

Make  way  to  earth  ;  then  most  what  time 
The  annual  spring  flowers  appear. 

Amid  the  coarser  needs  of  earth 

All  shapes  of  brightness,  what  are  they 

But  wanderers,  exiled  from  their  birth, 
Or  pledges  of  a  happier  day  ? 

Yea,  what  is  Beauty,  judged  aright, 
But  some  surpassing,  transient  gleam  ; 

Some  smile  from  Heaven,  in  waves  of  light. 
Rippling  o'er  life's  distempered  dream  ? 


FRIDAY  AFTER  SEXAGESIMA        99 

Or  broken  memories  of  that  bliss 

Which  rushed  through  first-born  Nature's  blood 
When  He  Who  ever  was,  and  is, 

Looked  down,  and  saw  that  all  was  good  ? 

Sir  Aubrey  De  Vere 


FRIDAY  AFTER  SEXAGESIMA 

NOUGHT  see  we  here  as  yet  in  full  perfection. 
Nought  reaching  yet  unto  its  true  ideal ; 
Lost  to  our  careless  sight  is  that  connexion. 
Which  knitted  once  the  perfect  to  the  real. 

Each  form  of  loveliness,  each  fair  creation, 
Hath  yet  a  type  more  true  and  brighter  far, 

And  we  must  trace  in  all  the  dim  relation, 

And  what  they  might  be,  learn  from  what  they 
are. 

Thus  every  character,  whate'er  its  sweetness. 
Is  but  the  fruit  all  blighted  and  unripe, 

Still  ever  striving  towards  its  own  completeness, 
Still  ever  yearning  towards  its  highest  type. 

And  only  as  we  know  and  love  them  duly. 
As  buds  and  blossoms  of  a  fairer  growth, 

Shall  we  learn  how  to  weigh  and  prize  them  truly. 
And  trace  the  true  unto  the  highest  truth. 

Though  lost  and  fallen  is  our  perfect  being 
Its  beauty  'mid  its  ruins  we  may  see, 

And  strive  we  still,  the  fair  completeness  seeing, 
To  reach  once  more  the  highest  we  can  be. 


loo  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

And  strive  we,  following  in  our  love  and  duty 
Him  Who  doth  noblest,  truest,  purest  shine, 

Who  raised  our  human  to  its  highest  beauty. 
By  blending  with  it  His  own  bright  divine. 

L.  R. 


SATURDAY  AFTER  SEXAGESIMA 

I   HEARD  the  voice  of  harpers,  harping  sweetly 
On  harps  of  gold  : 
I  saw  a  crystal  River — calmly,  widely 
Its  waters  rolled. 


I  caught  the  flash  of  turrets,  wrapt  in  splendour 

Of  sunless  light. 
Like  to  a  star  most  lustrous,  shedding  glory 

Out  of  the  night. 

I  dreamed  of  Lands  Elysian,  emerald  Islands 

In  shining  seas. 
Soft  perfumes  wafted  by  sweet-whispering  breezes 

From  fadeless  trees. 

I  saw  the  ranks  of  Angels,  silver-pinioned 

And  golden-crowned. 
Swift  radiant  Forms,  that  like  a  sunbeam  passing 

Touched  the  bright  ground. 

I  saw  the  ancient  worthies.  Heroes  saintly, 

Resting  in  calm. 
Clad  in  white  robes,  out  of  great  tribulation 

Bearing  the  palm. 


QUINQUAGESIMA  SUNDAY         loi 

I  saw  a  King  in  beauty,  cloud-encircled, 

Shrouded  in  light, 
The  likeness  of  a  Throne,  a  Sea  of  glory 
Dazzling  all  sight. 

A  voice  as  of  great  waters — myriads  falling 

Low  on  the  sod  : 
A  silence  :  harps  struck  louder  :  Seraphs 

Singing  "  Glory  to  God  !  " 

Charles  Lawrence  Ford 


QUINQUAGESIMA  SUNDAY 

GOD  doth  not  leave  His  own : 
The  night  of  weeping  for  a  time  may  last. 
Then,  tears  all  past, 
His  going  forth  shall  as  the  morning  shine, 
The  sunrise  of  His  favour  shall  be  thine : 
God  doth  not  leave  His  own. 

God  doth  not  leave  His  own ; 
Though  few  and  evil  all  their  days  appear, 

Though  grief  and  fear 
Come  in  the  train  of  earth  and  hell's  dark  crowd, 
The  trusting  heart  says  even  in  the  cloud, 

God  doth  not  leave  His  own. 

God  doth  not  leave  His  own ; 
This  sorrow  in  their  life  He  doth  permit, 

Yea,  chooseth  it, 
To  speed  His  children  on  their  heavenward  way. 
He  guides  the  winds. — Faith,  hope,  and  love  all 
say 

God  doth  not  leave  His  own. 


102  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 


FATHER    of    nations!    what    high    thoughts 
endued 
And  armed  thy  soul  with  matchless  fortitude, 
Walking  with  God,  in  tranquil  wisdom  strong, 
Mid  turbulence,  and  violence,  and  wrong  ? 
Sole  star,  descried  in  that  tempestuous  night, 
Sole  thing  of  life  in  that  o'erwhelming  blight ! 

It  was  the  stronger  Man,  Eve's  promised  Son, 
Bound  Death's  strong  arm  within  thee,  and  put  on 
The  armour :  it  was  Christ  in  thee  enshrined, 
Stretching  imploring  hands  to  lost  mankind. 
In  thee  His  feet  found  "rest"  amid  the  gloom, 
Noah,  great  name  of  Comfort !  ^     I/ights  illume 
The  darkness  where  He  comes  with  thee  to  stay ; 
And  on  th'  horizon's  verge,  a  heavenly  ray 
Surrounds  thee,  while  the  black,  baptismal  flood 
Seems  but  to  lift  thee,  in  thy  soHtude, 
Nearer  th'  ethereal  hall,  to  walk  among 
The  stars  of  Heaven ; — such  hopes  to  Faith  belong. 

In  that  frail  bark,  Christ,  our  Emmanuel, 
Is  passing  o'er  that  more  than  ocean's  swell, 
Where  seas  and  skies  the  gathering  darkness  fills. 
Bearing  His  own  to  the  celestial  Hills. 

Isaac  Williams 


MONDAY  AFTER  QUINQUAGESIMA 

STILL  young  and  fine  !  but  what  is  still  in  view 
We  shght  as  old  and  soiled,  though  fresh  and 
new. 
How  bright  wert  thou,  when  Shem's  admiring  eye 
Thy  burnished  flaming  arch  did  first  descry  ! 

^  Noah,  i.e.^  "  rest  or  comfort."     See  margin,  Gen.  v.  29. 


TUESDAY  AFTER  QUINQUAGESIMA     103 

When  Terah,  Nahor,  Haran,  Abram,  Lot, 

The  youthful  world's  grey  fathers  in  one  knot, 

Did  with  intentive  looks  watch  every  hour 

For  thy  new  light,  and  trembled  at  each  shower ! 

When  thou  dost  shine,  darkness  looks  white  and 

fair. 
Storms  turn  to  music,  clouds  to  smiles  and  air, 
Rain  gently  spends  his  honey-drops,  and  pours 
Balm  on  the  cleft  earth,  milk  on  grass  and  flowers. 
Bright  pledge  of  peace  and  sunshine  !  the  sure  tie 
Of  thy  Lord's  hand,  the  object  of  His  eye  ! 
When  I  behold  thee,  though  my  light  be  dim. 
Distant,  and  low,  I  can  in  thine  see  Him, 
Who  looks  upon  thee  from  His  glorious  Throne, 
And  minds  the  covenant  'twixt  all  and  One. 

Henry  Vaughan 


TUESDAY  AFTER  QUINQUAGESIMA 

GOOD   and   great  God  !    Can  I  not   think  of 
Thee, 
But  it  must  straight  my  melancholy  be  ? 
Is  it  interpreted  in  me  disease. 
That,  laden  with  my  sins,  I  seek  for  ease  ? 
O  be  Thou  witness,  that  the  reins  dost  know 
And  hearts  of  all,  if  I  be  sad  for  show  ; 
And  judge  me  after,  if  I  dare  pretend 
To  aught  but  grace  or  aim  at  other  end. 
As  Thou  art  all,  so  be  Thou  all  to  me. 
First,  midst,  and  last,  converted  One  and  Three  ! 
My  faith,  my  hope,  my  love  :  and,  in  this  state. 
My  judge,  my  witness,  and  my  advocate  ! 
Where  have  I  been  this  while  exiled  from  Thee, 
And  whither  rapt,  now  Thou  but  stoop'st  to  me  ? 


104  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Dwell,  dwell  here  still  !     O,  being  everywhere, 
How  can  I  doubt  to  find  Thee  ever  here  ? 
I  know  my  state,  both  full  of  shame  and  scorn, 
Conceived  in  sin  and  unto  labour  born, 
Standing  with  fear,  and  must  with  horror  fall. 
And  destined  unto  judgment,  after  all. 
I  feel  my  griefs  too,  and  there  scarce  is  ground 
Upon  my  flesh  to  inflict  another  wound ; — 
Yet  dare  I  not  complain  or  wish  for  death, 
With  holy  Paul,  lest  it  be  thought  the  breath 
Of  discontent  :  or  that  these  prayers  be 
For  weariness  of  life,  not  love  of  Thee. 

Ben  Jonson 


THE  SEASON  OF  LENT 

WELCOME,  dear  feast  of  Lent :  who  loves 
not  thee, 
He  loves  not  Temperance,  or  Authority, 

But  is  composed  of  passion. 
The  Scriptures  bid  us  fast :  the  Church  says,  now  : 
Give  to  thy  Mother  what  thou  wouldst  allow 
To  every  Corporation. 

The  humble  soul  composed  of  love  and  fear, 
Begins  at  home  and  lays  the  burden  there 

When  doctrines  disagree : 
He  says,  in  things  which  use  hath  justly  got, 
I  am  a  scandal  to  the  Church,  and  not 

The  Church  is  so  to  me. 

True  Christians  should  be  glad  of  an  occasion 
To  use  their  temperance,  seeking  no  evasion 


THE  SEASON  OF  LENT  105 

When  good  is  seasonable  ; 
Unless  Authority,  which  should  increase 
The  obligation  in  us,  make  it  less 

And  Power  itself  disable. 

Besides  the  cleanness  of  sweet  Abstinence, 
Quick  thoughts  and  motions  at  a  small  expense, 

A  face  not  fearing  light : 
Whereas  in  fulness  there  are  sluttish  fumes, 
Sour  exhalations  and  dishonest  rheums 

Revenging  the  delight. 

Then  those  same  pendant  profits,  which  the  Spring 
And  Easter  intimate,  enlarge  the  thing 

And  goodness  of  the  deed. 
Neither  ought  other  men's  abuse  of  Lent 
Spoil  the  good  use  ;  lest  by  the  argument 

We  forfeit  all  our  Creed. 

'Tis  true  we  cannot  reach  Christ's  fortieth  day ; 
Yet  to  go  part  of  that  religious  way 

Is  better  than  to  rest : 
We  cannot  reach  our  Saviour's  purity ; 
Yet  we  are  bid,  "  Be  holy  e'en  as  He." 

In  both  let's  do  our  best. 

Who  goeth  in  the  way  which  Christ  hath  gone, 
Is  much  more  sure  to  meet  with  Him,  than  one 

That  travelleth  by-ways. 
Perhaps  my  God,  though  He  be  far  before. 
May  turn,  and  take  me  by  the  hand,  and  more, 

May  strengthen  my  decays. 

Yet,  Lord,  instruct  us  to  improve  our  fast 
By  starving  sin,  and  taking  such  repast 


io6  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

As  may  our  faults  control : 
That  every  man  may  revel  at  his  door, 
Not  in  his  parlour  ;  banqueting  the  poor, 

And  among  those  his  soul. 

George  Herbert 


ASH   WEDNESDAY 

O  WORSHIPPER,  who  at  the  break  of  morn 
Movest  sedately  through  the  quiet  street, 
Seeking  thy  Lord's  Communion,  think  no  scorn, 

E'en  at  the  cast-out  ashes  thou  dost  meet 
Lying  at  every  door  !  They  are  not  void 

Of  fruitful  parable.     Only  last  night 
Both  rich  and  poor,  aged  and  young,  enjoyed 

No  boon  more  eagerly.     Radiantly  bright 
They  burned  and  shone  in  many  a  hearth  and 
spread 

A  treasured  influence  of  warmth  and  life. 
But  see  to-day  they  lie  before  thee  dead 

And  cheerless  :  yea,  unspeakably  at  strife 
With  loveliness  and  joy,  till  thou  dost  shrink 

And  turn  thine  eyes.     Yet,  ere  thou  reach  thy 
goal, 
Look  on  them  once  again  and,  pausing,  think  : — 

"  Here  is  pourtrayed  a  mystery  of  the  soul ! 
E'en  thus  the  passions  burn  with  tempting  glow, 

Attracting  all :  yet,  as  these  homely  fires 
Lie  quenched  and  dismal,  I  can  surely  know 

Much  more  the  alluring  flame  of  wrong  desire 
Shall  pine  away  and,  dying,  leave  behind 

Repulsive  ashes  in  the  jaded  heart !  " 
So  guide  thy  thoughts  and  fix  within  thy  mind 

To  conquer  Sin  ;  then  speed  to  take  thy  part 


THURSDAY  AFTER  ASH  WEDNESDAY  107 

Before  the  Altar.     He,  Who  safely  brought 
Those  children  from  the  furnace,  draweth  near 

To  rescue  thee  in  word  and  deed  and  thought 
From  the  dread  ardours  thou  hast  learnt  to  fear  ! 
G.  T.  S.  Farquhar 


THURSDAY  AFTER  ASH  WEDNESDAY 

MAN  is  a  busy  thing,  and  he 
Will  deal  in  all  sorts  of  affairs. 
Weighty  and  trivial ;  each  may  be, 
The  subject  of  his  greatest  cares ; 
But  this  shall  my  employment  be. 
Still  to  be  busied.  Lord,  with  Thee. 

Some  are  all  spirit,  and  will  fly 

At  nothing  lower  than  a  throne  ; 

The  proudest  spires  of  dignity 

They,  in  their  hopes,  have  made  their  own  : 

But  this  shall  my  employment  be, 

To  seek  my  honour  all  from  Thee. 

Some  that  are  sprung  from  coarser  clay 

Adore  a  paint-disguised  face. 

And  daily  their  devotion  pay 

To  spotted  beasts,  or  else  as  base  : 

But  this  shall  my  employment  be. 

Daily  to  serve  and  wait  on  Thee. 

Some  so  enhance  the  price  of  gold, 
They  judge  their  souls  to  be  but  dross  ; 
And  are  so  saving  that  they  hold 
The  air,  the  breath,  a  mighty  loss : 
But  this  shall  my  employment  be, 
I  will  love  nothing  like  to  Thee. 


io8  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Some  are  so  loyal  to  the  book 
Till  they  can  criticise,  and  tell 
How  many  steps  old  Time  has  took 
Since  our  great  father  Adam  fell : 
But  this  shall  my  employment  be, 
Better  to  know  myself  and  Thee. 


FRIDAY  AFTER  ASH  WEDNESDAY 

NOW  are  the  days  of  humblest  prayer, 
When  consciences  to  God  lie  bare, 
And  mercy  most  delights  to  spare. 
Oh  !  hearken  when  we  cry, 

Chastise  us  with  Thy  fear ; 

Yet,  Father  !  in  the  multitude 

Of  Thy  compassions  hear  ! 

Now  is  the  season,  wisely  long, 
Of  sadder  thought  and  graver  song, 
When  ailing  souls  grow  well  and  strong. 
Oh  !  hearken  when  we  cry, 

Chastise  us  with  Thy  fear  ; 
Yet,  Father  !  in  the  multitude 
Of  Thy  compassions  hear  ! 

The  feast  of  penance  !  oh,  so  bright 
With  true  conversion's  heavenly  light. 
Like  sunrise  after  stormy  night ! 
Oh  !  hearken  when  we  cry. 

Chastise  us  with  Thy  fear ; 

Yet,  Father  !  in  the  multitude 

Of  Thy  compassions  hear  ! 


SATURDAY  AFTER  ASH  WEDNESDAY   109 

We  who  have  loved  the  world  must  learn 
Upon  that  world  our  backs  to  turn  j 
And  with  the  love  of  God  to  burn. 
Oh  !  hearken  when  we  cry, 

Chastise  us  with  Thy  fear  ; 
Yet,  Father  !  in  the  multitude 
Of  Thy  compassions,  hear  ! 

Frederick  William  Farer 


SATURDAY  AFTER  ASH  WEDNESDAY 

IT  is  not  heavy,  agonizing  woe. 
Bearing  me  down  with  hopeless,  crushing  load, 
Not  reputation  lost,  nor  friends  betrayed — 
That  such  is  not  my  cross  I  thank  my  God. 

It  is  not  sickness  with  her  withering  hand, 
Keeping  me  low  upon  a  couch  of  pain. 
Longing  each  morning  for  the  weary  night, — 
At  night  for  weary  day  to  come  again. 

Mine  is  a  daily  cross  of  petty  cares, 
Of  daily  duties  pressing  on  my  heart, 
Of  little  troubles  hard  to  reconcile. 
Of  inward  struggles — overcome  in  part. 

My  feet  are  weary  in  their  daily  round. 
My  heart  is  weary  of  its  daily  care, 
My  sinful  nature  often  doth  rebel ; 
I  pray  for  grace  my  daily  cross  to  bear. 

It  is  not  heavy,  Lord,  yet  oft  I  pine ; 

It  is  not  heavy,  but  'tis  everywhere, 

By  day  and  night  each  hour  my  cross  I  bear ; 

I  dare  not  lay  it  down — Thou  keep'st  it  there. 


no  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

I  dare  not  lay  it  down,  I  only  ask 
That,  taking  up  my  daily  cross,  I  may 
Follow  my  Master  humbly,  step  by  step 
Through  clouds  and  darkness  unto  perfect  day. 


THE  FIRST  SUNDAY  IN  LENT 

HOW  long  and  deep  the  shadows  of  our  Lent, 
Flung  o'er  its  penitential  forty  days. 
With  here  and  there  a  ray  of  sunshine  sent 

From  Sunday's  gladness  and  its  burst  of  praise  ! 

Our  sins  and  sorrows,  like  some  surging  tide, 
Wave  after  wave,  beat  o'er  our  struggling  life, 

The  deeds  of  darkness  that  we  fain  would  hide — 
The  broken  vow,  the  fainting  in  the  strife. 

Helpless  and  sad,  O  Christ,  we  come  to  Thee  ! 

Thou  for  our  sake  wast  to  the  desert  led, 
Unharmed  didst  cross  temptation's  stormy  sea, 

That  we,  Thy  children,  might  be  comforted. 

In  all  points  tempted,  e'en  as  we  are  now, 
O  Man  Divine  !  like  to  Thy  brethren  made. 

The  thorny  crown  girdled  Thy  sacred  Brow, 
That  weary  hearts  might  look  to  Thee  for  aid. 

Thy  Cross,  upreared  on  Calvary's  altar  high. 
The  nail-print,  and  the  Side  so  rudely  riven, 

The  mid-day  darkness  and  the  piercing  cry, 
Tell  the  glad  story  of  our  sin  forgiven. 

Thus  to  our  hearts  the  long,  long  gloom  of  Lent, 
Leading  us  on  to  Easter's  brightest  glow, 

Becomes  a  living  type  and  sacrament 
Of  all  God's  discipline  of  love  below. 


FIRST  SUNDAY  IN  LENT  iii 

The  bitter  first,  and  then  the  endless  sweet, 

The  hard,  rough  way,  and  then  the  golden  floor. 

The  fiery  furnace,  then  nor  sun  nor  heat. 

The  Cross,  and  then  the  Crown  for  evermore. 
Robert  Hall  Baynes 


WEEK  OF  THE  FIRST  SUNDAY  IN 
LENT 

MONDAY 

GET  thee  hence,  Satan  ! "  at  His  withering  look 
Hell's  tottering  kingdom  to  its  centre  shook ; 
While  from  the  myriad  Angel  hosts  on  high 
Burst  forth  loud  shouts  of  praise  and  victory. 
'Gainst  man  the  fiend  had  tried  his  worst  in  vain 
And  hope  for  ruined  man  shone  forth  again. 
Dismayed,  undone,  the  baffled  tempter  fled, 
In  lowest  hell  to  hide  his  bruised  head ; 
Crippled  his  power,  his  reign  of  darkness  o'er, 
The  kingdoms  of  this  world  his  own  no  more. 
Yet  not  unscathed  the  Conqueror  in  the  strife, 
Who  there  had  won  for  unborn  millions  life ; 
Crushed  was  the  foe  beneath  His  conquering  tread. 
But  bruised  the  Victor's  heel  by  that  foul  head. 
As  Man,  not  God,  He  fought  in  that  dark  hour, 
And  braved  alone  the  tempter's  utmost  power; 
The  Woman's  Seed,  the  Virgin's  mighty  Son, 
As  Man  had  fought,  as  Man  the  victory  won ; 
Wielding  that  sword  alone  which  man  can  wield, 
Quenching  the  fiery  darts  with  man's  own  shield. 
And  still  as  Man,  with  fasting  faint  and  worn. 
His  inmost  soul  by  that  fierce  conflict  torn ; 


112   CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Alone  He  stands  upon  the  mountain  now, 
Cold  drops  of  anguish  on  His  suffering  brow, 
Sadly  foreshadowing  that  tremendous  night, 
When  drops  of  blood  should  start  in  deadlier  fight. 
Alone  ?  no,  not  alone,  for  swift  draw  near 
Bright  Angel  forms,  to  strengthen  and  to  cheer ; 
To  minister  to  all  His  wants  and  woes, 
And  soothe  His  weary  form  in  calm  repose. 

Sophie  F.  F.  Vettch 


TUESDAY 

WHEN  first  thine  eyes  unveil,  give  thy  soul 
leave 
To  do  the  like ;  our  bodies  but  forerun 

The  spirit's  duty :  true  hearts  spread  and  heave 
Unto  their  God  as  flowers  do  to  the  sun  ; 

Give  Him  thy  first  thoughts  then,  so  shalt  thou 

keep 
Him  company  all  day,  and  in  Him  sleep. 

Yet  never  sleep  the  sun  up ;  prayer  should 
Dawn  with  the  day  :  these  are  set  awful  hours 

'Twixt  Heav'n  and  us ;  the  manna  was  not  good 
After  sun-rising ;  far  day  sullies  flowers  : 

Rise  to  prevent  the  sun ;  sleep  doth  sins  glut. 

And  Heaven's  gate  opens  when  the  world's  is 
shut. 

Walk  with  thy  fellow  creatures :  note  the  hush 
And  whisperings  amongst  them.     Not  a  spring 

Or  leaf  but  hath  his  morning  hymn  ;  each  bush 
And  oak  doth  know  I  Am. — Canst  thou  not  sing  ? 

O  leave  thy  cares  and  follies !  go  this  way 

And  thou  art  sure  to  prosper  all  the  day. 

Henry  Vaughan 


FIRST  SUNDAY  IN  LENT  113 


WEDNESDAY 

BOAST  of  thine  honours,  wealth,  and  power, 
Thy  triumphs  vast,  and  victory's  dower, — 
Prate  of  thy  gains,  thy  sensual  ease, 
Thy  mirth,  and  thy  festivities, — 
Fill  thy  heart  big  with  subtle  pride, 
By  rustling  dignity  supplied ; — 
Yet  hear  the  words  of  Wisdom  plead, 
"  Amen,  thou  hast  received  thy  meed." 

But,  as  for  me,  I  will  not  seek 
For  aught  but  this — a  conscience  meek. 
This  is  the  season  God  hath  given. 
To  rise  from  earth,  to  work  for  Heaven. 
This  is  the  time,  by  mortal  strife. 
To  win  an  entrance  into  life, — 
Here  we  must  labour,  toil,  and  weep, 
Here  we  must  nurse  contrition  deep. 

Here  must  we  labour,  war,  and  fight, — 
This  is  no  time  for  triumph  bright. 
Here  we  are  in  the  battle-field. 
Here  watch  lest  we  should  fail  and  yield. 
It  is  no  time  to  speak  of  gains, 
While  struggling  with  our  iron  chains. 
When  death  is  come,  and  battle  done. 
Then  may  we  rest, — and  then  alone  ! 


THURSDAY 

OT  ashes  on  the  head, 

But  ashes  on  the  heart,  O  Lord 
To  check  the  bursting  flame  of  sinful  pride. 
The  vivid  embers  of  fierce  worldly  thought. 


N 


114  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

By  worldly  passion  fed, — 
This  is  the  fast  Thy  holy  Word 
Proclaims, — the  better  proof  that  we  have  died 
To  sin,  and  our  wild  fires  to  due  subjection  brought. 


Not  tearfulness  of  eye, 
Nor  sign  of  sorrow  on  the  cheek, 
Blighted  and  furrowed  all  with  briny  woe : — 
But  Thou  dost  rather  choose  the  hidden  tear, 
The  broken  contrite  sigh 
Of  troubled  spirits  Thou  dost  seek 
For  grief  that  may  the  deep  heart  overflow  ; 
So  best  to  Thy  keen  eye  doth  the  heart's  truth 
appear. 

Not  sackcloth,  but  instead 
The  better  sign  of  penitence, 
The  stole  of  purity,  the  pilgrim  weeds 
Hung  thick  around  the  faint  and  erring  soul, 
Contrition's  sting  for  bed 
Of  thorns — the  keen  awaken'd  sense 
Of  vows  long  since  forgot,  of  heartless  deeds 
Doing  or   done — of  hopes   that   own    not  faith's 
control. 

The  pamper'd  flesh  subdued. 
The  open'd  fount  of  charity. 
The  veil  that  "  from  our  own  flesh  hides"  us  close 
Remov'd,  and  kindly  beams  of  comfort  dealt 
At  large  for  others'  good — 
This  "  the  fast  to  sanctify  "  : — 
Not  unacceptable  to  Him  Who  knows 
How   long,  how  low  in  faith  the  breaking  heart 
has  knelt. 

H.  K.  C. 


FIRST  SUNDAY  IN  LENT  115 


FRIDAY 

MY  God,  to  keep  my  heart, 
That  it  from  Thee  may  never  start, 
I  know  is  Thy  dread  will, 
But  how  shall  I  that  task  fulfil  ? 
The  traitor  with  my  rebel  lusts  will  mix, 
And  'tis  beyond  my  power  the  mercury  to  fix. 

My  heart  inclines  to  bliss. 

Yet  studies  the  straight  way  to  miss: 

My  thoughts  are  loose  and  vain 

When  I  most  strive  them  to  restrain ; 

They  fly  at  random  all  the  world  about, 

And  render  my  best  prayers  careless  and  indevout. 

Opinions  false  onewhile 

My  fond  credulity  beguile ; 

In  a  mistaken  way 

With  pertinaciousness  I  stray  ; 

I  no  destructive  consequences  heed. 

Am  harder  to  reclaim  the  farther  I  proceed. 

Sin  the  internal  cells 

Invades,  where  my  remembrance  dwells ; 

Past  foul  ideas  there 

In  lively  colours  pictured  are  ; 

When  to  recall  truths  heavenly  I  design'd, 

Things  sensual  overspread  the  surface  of  my  mind. 

My  God,  Thou  only  art 
Able  to  know,  keep,  rule,  the  heart ; 
Oh,  make  my  heart  Thy  care, 
Which  I  myself  to  keep  despair  ! 
No  rebels  then  will  garrison  my  breast ; 
Beneath  Almighty  wings  my  heart  will  live  at  rest. 

Thomas  Ken 


ii6  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 


SATURDAY 

THERE  is  a  time  to  fast, 
Which  Christ  hath  sanctified, 
Shadowed  of  ages  past 
For  them  who  to  the  world  have  died. 

Let  there  be  holy  guard 
O'er  word,  and  food,  and  sleep, 
That  in  her  widowed  ward 
The  soul  her  strictest  watch  may  keep. 

That  so  she  best  within 
Her  rebel  lusts  may  quell. 
Lest  the  dark  foe,  unseen, 
Steal  in  and  seize  the  citadel. 

Let  us  bow  down  and  weep, 
Ere  yet  it  be  too  late, 
His  path  with  tears  to  steep 
Before  the  Judge  be  at  the  gate. 

Tremendous  Judge,  e'en  now 
Our  crimes  like  mountains  rise. 
But  yet  a  Father  Thou, 
And  mightier  are  Thy  clemencies. 

Frail  as  the  potter's  clay. 
Yet  by  Thy  work  are  we : 
Oh,  leave  us  not  a  prey 
For  whom  Christ  paid  the  penalty. 

Heal  us  from  all  our  sin. 
Restore  us  to  our  place, 
With  contrite  hearts  to  win 
Thine  all  abounding,  pitying  grace. 

Isaac  Williams 


SECOND  SUNDAY  IN  LENT         117 


THE  SECOND  SUNDAY  IN  LENT 

"  T  T  AVE  mercy  on  me,  Lord  !  " 
-LJ.     She  followed  Him,  and  cried ;  and  when 
there  came 
No  answer,  follow'd,  crying  still  the  same, — 
"  Have  mercy  on  me,  Lord  ! " 

"  Send  her  away,"  they  said — 
They  who  should  be  dispensers  of  His  grace, 
Would  have  Him  turn  from  her  who  sought  His 
face : 

"  Send  her  away,"  they  said. 

He  spoke  their  thought  aloud — 
"  It  is  not  meet  to  take  the  children's  bread 
And  cast  it  to  the  dogs  " — as  if  He  said, 

**  How  poor  ye  are  and  proud." 

"  Yea,  Lord,  and  yet  the  dogs 
Eat  of  the  crumbs  that  from  the  children  fall," 
She  pleaded — "  And  there  is  enough  for  all — 

For  children  and  for  dogs.'' 

And  He  to  her  replied, 
"  Even  as  thou  wilt,  so  be  it  unto  thee. 
Thy  heart  the  measure  of  the  grace  shall  be, 

From  My  rich  store  supplied." 

She  had  the  thing  she  would. 
Lord,  if  I  dip  my  cup  into  the  sea, 
It  rises  full.     Such  cup  each  soul  may  be, 

Such  ocean  is  Thy  good. 


ii8  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

WEEK  OF  THE  SECOND  SUNDAY  IN 

LENT 

MONDAY 

THE  pilot's  skill  how  can  we  know 
Till  tempests  blow  ? 
How  is  that  soldier's  valour  seen 
Which  ne'er  hath  been 
In  fight  ?  they  scarce  true  soldiers  are 
That  have  no  wound  to  show,  or  scar. 

Those  soldiers  which  the  general 

Calls  out  of  all 
His  army  to  attempt  some  great 

And  brave  exploit, 
Are  those  sure  whom  he  means  to  grace 
With  honour,  and  some  higher  place. 

Except  we  fight,  there  is  no  crown 

And  no  renown ; 
Unless  we  sweat  in  the  vineyard, 

There's  no  reward  : 
Unless  we  climb  Mount  Calvary, 
Mount  Olivet  we  shall  not  see. 

Alexander  Rosse. 


TUESDAY 


H 


OW  long,  great  God,  how  long  must  I 
Immured  in  this  dark  prison  lie  ; 
Where  at  the  grates  and  avenues  of  sense. 
My  soul  must  watch  to  have  intelligence ; 


SECOND  SUNDAY  IN  LENT         119 

Where  but  faint  gleams  of  Thee  salute  my  sight, 
Like  doubtful  moonshine  in  a  cloudy  night ; 

When  shall  I  leave  this  magic  sphere, 

And  be  all  mind,  all  eye,  all  ear  ? 

How  cold  this  clime  !     And  yet  my  sense 
Perceives  e'en  here  Thy  influence. 
E'en  here  Thy  strong  magnetic  charms  I  feel. 
And  pant  and  tremble  like  the  amorous  steel. 
To  lower  good,  and  beauties  less  divine, 
Sometimes  my  erroneous  needle  does  incline ; 
But  yet,  so  strong  the  sympathy, 
It  turns  and  points  again  to  Thee. 

I  long  to  see  this  excellence 

Which  at  such  distance  strikes  my  sense. 
My  impatient  soul  struggles  to  disengage 
Her  wings  from  the  confinement  of  her  cage. 
Would'st   Thou,   great   Love,  this   prisoner   once 

set  free, 
How  would  she  hasten  to  be  link'd  to  Thee ! 

She'd  for  no  Angel's  conduct  stay. 

But  fly,  and  love  on  all  the  way. 

John  Norris 


WEDNESDAY 

WHAT  though  we  bear  a  heavy  load, 
And  have  to  strive  and  struggle  long, 
We  have  meanwhile  an  urging  goad 
To  soothe  its  weight,  to  lull  the  throng. 

A  Harvest  of  approved  repose. 

Fruitful  and  rich,  shall  be  our  gain, 

If  meekly  we  endure  our  woes. 
And  bow  to  sorrow,  loss,  or  pain. 


120  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Whoe'er  would  win  the  crown,  must  dare 
The  weary  day  of  trial  and  strife  ; 

Aye  !  unto  death  thou  must  prepare, 
If  thou  wouldst  enter  into  hfe ! 

Yet  fear  not,  coward-like,  nor  shrink, 
Unnerved  too  soon,  before  th'  attack. 

Press  boldly  on,  and  meanwhile  think, 
"  Who  goes  not  forward,  falleth  back." 

Thou  hast  a  path  before  thee  set, 

Fear  not  to  tread,  no  harm  may  come 

To  him,  who  spite  of  toil,  and  sweat, 
And  peril,  hastens  to  his  home. — 

There^  all  thy  suffering  repaid. 
Thou  shalt  repose  with  tranquil  breast ; 

And  count  all  strife,  and  struggle  weigh'd 
As  nought,  against  that  goodly  rest ! 


THURSDAY 

THE  sunset  falls  on  Isaac's  tent — 
And  all  the  glowing  Syrian  sky 
Is  flooded  with  a  mingled  dye 
Of  gold,  and  faintest  crimson  blent. 

But  never  more  at  evening's  close 

Her  loved  son's  voice  Rebekah  hears ; 
That  was  a  true  chord  to  her  ears 

More  sweet  than  any  music  knows. 

And  he  that  shared  her  fond  deceit 

That  could  not  wait  the  appointed  time. 
He  feels,  by  night,  the  frosty  rime, 

By  day,  the  summer's  noon-tide  heat. 


SECOND  SUNDAY  IN  LENT         121 

An  exile  in  another  land ; 

And  never  more  his  head  to  rest 

Upon  a  mother's  patient  breast, 
And  never  feel  her  soothing  hand. 

Learn  of  his  sorrow,  Christian  youth. 

When  tempted  sore,  when  right  shall  seem 
To  come  by  wrong ;  nor  ever  deem 

That  Heaven  has  need  of  thine  untruth. 

Like  fountains  lost,  and  traced  in  vain, 
That  blend  at  last  with  ocean's  blue — 
Like  birds  that  wander  winter  through, 

But  find  their  summer's  nests  again, — 

God's  ways,  though  dark,  nor  understood, 
Shall  work  His  righteous  will  at  last ! 
Keep  virtue's  path,  though  clouds  o'ercast : 

Nor  sin  for  any  seeming  good. 

Cecil  Frances  Alexander 


FRIDAY 

HEARE  me,  O  God  ! 
A  broken  heart 
Is  my  best  part : 
Use  still  Thy  rod, 
That  I  may  prove 
Therein  Thy  love. 

If  Thou  hadst  not 
Beene  sterne  to  me 
But  left  me  free, 

I  had  forgot 

Myselfe  and  Thee. 


122  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

For  sin's  so  sweet, 

As  minds  ill  bent 

Rarely  repent, 
Untill  they  meet 

Their  punishment. 

Who  more  can  crave 

Than  Thou  hast  done  ? 

That  gav'st  a  Sonne, 
To  free  a  slave  : 

First  made  of  nought ; 

Withall  since  bought. 

Sinne,  Death,  and  Hell 

His  glorious  Name 

Quite  overcame. 
Yet  I  rebell 

And  slight  the  same. 

But  I'll  come  in 

Before  my  losse 

Me  further  tosse, 
As  sure  to  win 

Under  His  Crosse ! 

Ben  Jonson 


SATURDAY 

MERCY,  my  Judge,  mercy,  I  cry 
With  blushing  cheek  and  bleeding  eye, 
The  conscious  colours  of  my  sin 
Are  red  without  and  pale  within. 

O  let  Thine  own  soft  bowels  pay 
Thyself :  and  so  discharge  that  day. 
If  sin  can  sigh,  love  can  forgive, 
O  say  the  word,  my  soul  shall  live. 


THIRD  SUNDAY  IN  LENT  123 

Those  mercies  which  Thy  Mary  found, 
Or  who  Thy  Cross  confessed  and  crowned, 
Hope  tells  my  heart  the  same  loves  be 
Still  alive,  and  still  for  me. 

Though  both  my  pray'rs  and  tears  combine, 
Both  worthless  are  :  for  they  are  mine. 
But  Thou  Thy  bounteous  self  still  be  ; 
And  show  Thou  art,  by  saving  me. 

O  when  Thy  last  frown  shall  proclaim 
The  flocks  of  goats  to  folds  of  flame, 
And  all  Thy  lost  sheep  found  shall  be, 
Let  "Come  ye  blessed  "  then  call  me. 

When  the  dread  "  Ite  "  shall  divide 
Those  limbs  of  death  from  Thy  left  side, 
Let  those  life-giving  lips  command 
That  I  inherit  Thy  right  hand. 

O  hear  a  suppliant  heart,  all  crush'd 
And  crumbled  into  contrite  dust. 
My  hope,  my  fear  !  my  judge,  my  friend  ! 
Take  charge  of  me  and  of  my  end. 

Richard  Crashaw 


THE  THIRD  SUNDAY  IN  LENT 

HOW  shall  I  follow  Him  I  serve? 
How  shall  I  copy  Him  I  love  ? 
Nor  from  those  blessed  footsteps  swerve 
Which  lead  me  to  His  seat  above  ? 


124  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Privations,  sorrows,  bitter  scorn, 
The  life  of  toil,  the  mean  abode, 

The  faithless  kiss,  the  crown  of  thorn. 
Are  these  the  consecrated  road  ? 


'Twas  thus  He  suffered,  though  a  Son 
Foreknowing,  choosing,  feeling  all, 

Until  the  perfect  work  was  done. 
And  drunk  the  bitter  cup  of  gall. 

Lord  !  should  my  path  through  suffering  lie 

Forbid  it  I  should  e'er  repine. 
Still  let  me  turn  to  Calvary, 

Nor  heed  my  griefs,  remembering  Thine. 

Oh,  let  me  think  how  Thou  didst  leave 

Untasted  every  pure  delight. 
To  fast,  to  faint,  to  watch,  to  grieve. 

The  toilsome  day,  the  homeless  night : — 

To  faint,  to  grieve,  to  die  for  me ! 

Thou  camest  not  Thyself  to  please ; 
And,  dear  as  earthly  comforts  be. 

Shall  I  not  love  Thee  more  than  these  ? 

Yes  !  I  would  count  them  all  but  loss, 
To  gain  the  notice  of  Thine  eye  : 

Flesh  shrinks  and  trembles  at  the  cross^ 
But  Thou  canst  give  the  victory. 

JOSIAH    CONDER 


THIRD  SUNDAY  IN  LENT  125 

WEEK  OF  THE  THIRD  SUNDAY  IN 

LENT 

MONDAY 

INTO  some  wave,  which  heedless  night-winds 
rock, 
The  moon  comes  down  with  all  her  starry  flock, 
Her  glorious  imagery  around  her  brings. 
And  forms  a  temple  of  celestial  things. 
Thus,  sweet-souled  Joseph,  as  thy  life  ran  on. 
Each  scene  disclosed  anew  the  Eternal  Son, 
Till  all  thou  didst,  on  thy  meek  purpose  bent. 
Became  in  thee  divinely  eloquent, 
Presenting  thee,  in  all  that  hurried  by, 
The  mirror  of  some  holier  myster)'. 

Tried  by  the  adulterous  world,  temptation-proof, 
But  "numbered  with  transgressors."     Now  aloof 
Thou  sitt'st  on  high, — around  the  heathen  press. 
And  from  thine  hand  are  filled  with  plenteous- 

ness. 
But  who  are  these  ?  lift  up  thine  eyes, — behold 
Thy  brethren,  they  who  set  at  nought,  and  sold  ! 
Bid  all  depart — ye  little  company. 
Come  ye  around,  behold  Me,  "  It  is  I," 
Feel  Me,  fear  not  !  the  prisoner's  chain  unbind  : 
But  who  is  he  that  lingers  yet  behind  ? 
"  Out  of  due  time  !  " — let  ye  the  stranger  in, 
'Tis  Mine  own  Paul,  Mine  own  loved  Benjamin. 

Isaac  Williams 


126  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 


TUESDAY 

THOUGH  clouds  be  dark  and  tempests  brood 
around, 
Though  fairest  hopes  betray  and  dreams  deceive, 
The  mercy  of  our  God  is  ever  sure  ; 
Time  cannot  bound  it,  nor  can  earth  confine, 
Nor  death  destroy,  nor  the  cold  grave  entomb ; 
But  'twill  survive  the  severance  of  all  ties. 
When  time  and  time's  dominion  are  no  more. 
Flowers  wither,  nature's  greenness  fades  ;  whate'er 
Of  life  or  loveliness  on  earth  I  view 
Is  passing  swift  away. 

Passing  away  ! 
And  I  am  passing  too ;  a  little  while, 
And  the  big  swelling  waves  of  grief  will  lie 
In  this  breast  hushed  for  ever ;  o'er  my  head 
Long  plumes  of  grass  will  flutter  in  the  breeze, 
While  I  shall  rest,  hope's  pris'ner,  in  the  grave. 
But  joy  amid  this  universal  change  ! 
One  thing  ne'er  changes  'midst  the  ebb  and  surge 
Of  time's  wild-rocking  billows  ;  like  a  light 
It  burns,  and  lamps  a  dying  universe 
As  with  the  radiance  of  immortal  day. 
And  whispers  to  my  spirit,  as  I  go 
Down  into  the  dull  charnel,  of  the  joy 
And  endless  rapture  of  the  bliss  to  be. 
It  is  the  loving  kindness  of  my  God — 

0  glorious  pledge,  seal'd  with  the  Saviour's  blood  ! 
With  His  dear  promise  to  assure  my  soul, 

1  will  take  heart  upon  my  pilgrim  way, 
Inscribing  on  the  battle-flag  of  life. 
As  the  heraldic  motto  of  my  trust, 

''  Thy  mercy  is  for  ever  and  for  ever, 
O  God,  on  all  that  fear  Thy  Name  !  " 

W.  TiDD  Matson 


THIRD  SUNDAY  IN  LENT  127 


WEDNESDAY 

AS  travellers,  when  the  twilight's  come, 
And  in  the  sky  the  stars  appear, 
The  past  day's  accidents  do  summe, 

With  "Thus  wee  saw  there  and  thus  here,' 

Then,  Jacob-like,  lodge  in  a  place — 
A  place,  and  no  more,  is  set  down — 

Where,  till  the  day  restore  the  race. 

They  rest  and  dream  homes  of  their  own, 

So  for  this  night  I  linger  here. 

And,  full  of  tossings  to  and  fro. 
Expect  still  when  Thou  wilt  appear 

That  I  may  get  me  up  and  go. 

I  long  and  groan  and  grieve  for  Thee, 
For  Thee  my  words,  my  tears  do  gush ; 

Oh  !  that  I  were  but  where  I  see  ! 
Is  all  the  note  within  my  bush. 

As  birds  robbed  of  their  native  wood. 
Although  their  diet  may  be  fine, 

Yet  neither  sing  nor  like  their  food. 
But  with  the  thought  of  home  do  pine ; 

So  do  I  mourn  and  hang  my  head. 

And,  though  Thou  dost  me  fulness  give, 

Yet  look  I  for  far  better  bread, 
Because  by  this  man  cannot  live. 

O  feed  me  then  !  and  since  I  may 

Have  yet  more  days,  more  nights  to  count, 

So  strengthen  me.  Lord,  all  the  way, 
That  I  may  travel  to  Thy  Mount. 

Henry  Vaughan 


128  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 


THURSDAY 

FEAR  not,  for  He  hath  sworn  : 
Faithful  and  true  His  Name 
The  glorious  hours  are  onward  borne ; 
'Tis  lit,  th'  immortal  flame ; 
It  glows  around  thee :  kneel,  and  strive,  and  win 
Daily  one  living  ray — 'twill  brighter  glow  within. 

Yet  fear  :  the  time  is  brief; 

The  Holy  One  is  near ; 
And,  like  a  spent  and  withered  leaf 
In  autumn  twilight  drear. 
Faster  each  hour,  on  Time's  unslackening  gale, 
The  dreaming  world  drives  on  to  where  all  visions 
fail. 

Surely  the  time  is  short : 

Endless  the  task  and  art 
To  brighten  for  the  ethereal  court 
A  soil'd,  earth-drudging  heart. 
But  He,  the  dread  Proclaimer  of  that  hour, 
Is  pledged  to  thee  in  love,  as  to  thy  foes  in  power. 

His  shoulders  bear  the  key  : 

He  opens — who  can  close  ? 
Closes — and  who  dare  open  ? — He 
Thy  soul's  misgiving  knows ; 
If  He  come  quick,  the  mightier  sure  will  prove 
His  spirit  in  each  heart  that  timely  strives  to  love. 

Then  haste  Thee,  Lord  !  come  down, 
Take  Thy  great  power,  and  reign, 

But  frame  Thee  first  a  perfect  crown 
Of  spirits  freed  from  stain  : — 


THIRD  SUNDAY  IN  LENT  129 

Souls  mortal  once,  now  matched  for  evermore 
With  the  immortal  gems  that  form'd  Thy  wreath 
before. 

John  Keble 

FRIDAY 

IS  this  a  fast,  to  keep 
The  larder  lean  ? 
And  clean 
From  fat  of  veals  and  sheep  ? 

Is  it  to  quit  the  dish 
Of  flesh,  vet  still 
To  fill 
The  platter  high  with  fish  ? 

Is  it  to  fast  an  hour, 
Or  ragg'd  to  go. 
Or  show 
A  downcast  look  and  sour  ? 

No  :  'tis  a  fast  to  dole 
Thy  sheaf  of  wheat, 
And  meat, 
Unto  the  hungry  soul. 

It  is  to  fast  from  strife. 
From  old  debate 
And  hate ; 
To  circumcise  thy  life. 

To  show  a  heart  grief-rent ; 

To  starve  thy  sin, 

Not  bin ; 

And  thf,t's  to  keep  thy  Lent. 

Robert  Her  kick 


I30  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 


SATURDAY 

THERE  is  a  River,  deep  and  broad, 
Its  course  no  mortal  knows  ; 
It  fills  with  joy  the  Church  of  God, 
And  widens  as  it  flows. 


Clearer  than  crystal  is  the  stream, 
And  bright  with  endless  day ; 

The  waves  with  every  blessing  teem. 
And  life  and  health  convey. 

Where'er  they  flow,  contentions  cease, 
And  love  and  meekness  reign  : 

The  Lord  Himself  commands  the  peace, 
And  foes  conspire  in  vain. 

Along  the  shores,  Angelic  bands 

Watch  every  moving  wave ; 
With  holy  joy  their  breast  expands, 

When  men  the  waters  crave. 

To  them  distressed  souls  repair, 
The  Lord  invites  them  nigh ; 

They  leave  their  cares  and  sorrows  there, 
They  drink,  and  never  die. 

Flow  on,  sweet  Stream,  more  largely  flow, 

The  earth  with  glory  fill ; 
Flow  on,  till  all  the  Saviour  know, 

And  all  obey  His  will. 

William  Hurn 


FOURTH  SUNDAY  IN  LENT       131 


THE  FOURTH  SUNDAY  IN  LENT 

AS  one  who,  toiling  up  some  lofty  peak, 
Pauses  to  turn  his  glance  where,  far  below 
The  narrow,  winding  path  his  weary  feet 

Have  trod  so  long  with  painful  steps  and  slow, 
First  leaves  the  flowery  mead  and  upward  winds  ; 

And  heaves,  perchance,  a  sigh  from  vanished 
ease; 
Then  upward  gazes,  where  the  mountain's  brow 

Seems  to  touch  heaven  and  solve  its  mysteries, 
And,  weariness  forgot,  strives  onward  still — 

So  we  in  solemn  Lenten-tide  look  back  and  on ; 
And  if  the  path  of  self-denial  seems  steep. 

And  trials,  briars  that  we  tread  upon, 
Yet  when  we  forward  look,  all  pain  is  nought, 

For  o'er  the  mountain's  brow  a  beauteous  ray 
Breaks  on  our  dazzled  sight ;  we  onward  press 

To  greet  the  radiance  of  Easter  Day. 


WEEK  OF  THE  FOURTH  SUNDAY 
IN  LENT 

MONDAY 

MY  soul  once  had  its  plenteous  years, 
And  grew  in  peace  with  plenty  filled, 
Like  the  good  kine  and  ripened  ears, 
Which  Pharaoh  in  his  dream  beheld. 

From  day  to  day,  with  grace  refreshed. 
With  means  and  ordinances  fed, 


132  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

How  happy  for  a  while  I  lived  ! 
And  little  feared  the  want  of  bread. 

But  famine  came,  and  left  no  sign 

Of  all  the  plenty  I  had  seen  ; 

Like  the  shrunk  ears  and  half-starved  kine, 

I  then  was  withered,  faint,  and  lean. 

To  Joseph  the  Egyptians  went ; 
To  Jesus  I  made  known  my  case, 
He,  when  my  little  store  was  spent, 
Opened  the  treasures  of  His  grace. 

For  He  the  time  of  dearth  foresaw, 
And  made  provision  long  before ; 
That  famished  souls,  like  mine,  might  draw 
Supplies  from  His  unbounded  store. 

Now,  on  His  bounty  I  depend, 
And  live  from  fear  of  death  secure  ; 
Maintained  by  such  a  mighty  Friend, 
I  cannot  want,  or  e'er  be  poor. 

Come,  souls,  and  hear  His  gracious  call. 
His  mercy  door  stands  open  wide, 
He  has  enough  to  feed  you  all. 
And  none  who  come  will  be  denied. 

John  Newton 


TUESDAY 

IF  hasty  hand  or  bitter  tongue 
Have  ever  done  you  causeless  wrong 
By  evil  deed  or  word. 
Have  no  bad  thought  your  heart  within, 
For  malice  is  a  deadly  sin 
And  hateful  to  the  Lord. 


FOURTH  SUNDAY  IN  LENT       133 

Be  yours  such  thought  as  Joseph  felt, 
When  all  his  haughty  brethren  knelt, 

As  visioned  dreams  foretold, 
And  found,  in  that  Egyptian  Lord, 
The  Brother  whom  their  hearts  abhorred, 

The  slave  whom  they  had  sold  ; 

Then  not  a  tear,  but  such  as  pour 
When  hearts  with  love  and  joy  run  o'er. 

Then  not  an  angry  word  he  gave. 
But  said,  "  My  brothers,  weep  no  more  ; 
'Twas  God  Who  sent  me  on  before 

Your  dearer  lives  to  save." 

A  twofold  power  Forgiveness  hath, 
She  softens  hearts,  she  tempers  wrath, 

And  she  is  ever  strong 
To  call  a  blessing  down  from  Heaven ; 
Christ  said,  "  If  ye  would  be  forgiven. 

Forgive  your  brother's  wrong." 

Cecil  Frances  Alexander 


WEDNESDAY 

HERE  must  the  Christian  onward  press. 
Through  toil  and  sweat,  through  foul  and 
fair ; 
In  days  of  gladness  or  distress 
Of  looking  back  he  must  beware. 

His  life  of  grace  must  still  advance, 

His  onward  gaze  fix'd  on  the  goal. 
With  penance,  ever  new,  enhance 

The  love  and  virtue  of  his  soul. 


134  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

There  is  a  strong  and  running  tide 

Sweeps  past  his  boat ;  and  he  who  stays 

To  rest  upon  his  oars,  shall  glide 

Unnoticed  back  from  Heaven's  grace. 

Still  while  the  haven  is  ungain'd, 

Still  must  be  stemm'd  the  troublous  stream, — 
Each  nerve  be  strung,  each  muscle  strain'd, 

If  he  would  gain  his  precious  aim. 

He  who  stands  still,  falls  back ;  how  few, 

Alas  !  drink  in  the  fearful  truth  ! 
How  many  lose,  in  earth's  dull  show, 

The  glowing  fervour  of  their  youth  ! 

Then  let  us  on  with  bold  address, 
Unlured  by  joys,  unmoved  by  woes, 

Until  our  weary  feet  shall  press 
The  haven  of  our  last  repose  ! 


THURSDAY 

UP  to  the  hills  I  lift  mine  eyes, 
The  eternal  hills  beyond  the  skies ; 
Thence  all  her  help  my  soul  derives. 
There  my  Almighty  Refuge  lives. 

He  lives,  the  everlasting  God, 
That  built  the  world,  that  spread  the  flood ; 
The  heavens  with  all  their  hosts  He  made, 
And  the  dark  regions  of  the  dead. 

He  guides  our  feet.  He  guards  our  way ; 
His  morning  smiles  bless  all  the  day ; 
He  spreads  the  evening  veil,  and  keeps 
The  silent  hours  while  Israel  sleeps. 


FOURTH  SUNDAY  IN  LENT        135 

Israel,  a  name  divinely  blest, 
May  rise  secure,  securely  rest ; 
Thy  holy  Guardian's  wakeful  eyes 
Admit  no  slumber  nor  surprise. 

No  sun  shall  smite  thy  head  by  day, 
Nor  the  pale  moon  with  sickly  ray 
Shall  blast  thy  couch  ;  no  baleful  star 
Dart  his  malignant  fire  so  far. 

Should  earth  and  hell  with  malice  burn. 
Still  thou  shalt  go,  and  still  return. 
Safe  in  the  Lord ;  His  heavenly  care 
Defends  thy  life  from  every  snare. 

On  thee  foul  spirits  have  no  power ; 
And,  in  thy  last  departing  hour. 
Angels,  that  trace  the  airy  road. 
Shall  bear  thee  homeward  to  thy  God. 

Isaac  Watts 


FRIDAY 

FLING  out  the  banner  !  let  it  float 
Skyward  and  seaward,  high  and  wide ; 
The  sun  shall  light  its  shining  folds. 
The  Cross  on  which  the  Saviour  died. 

Fling  out  the  banner  !  Angels  bend 
In  anxious  silence  o'er  the  sign ; 

And  vainly  seek  to  comprehend 
The  wonder  of  the  Love  Divine. 

FHng  out  the  banner !  heathen  lands 
Shall  see  from  far  the  glorious  sight, 


136  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

And  nations,  crowding  to  be  born, 
Baptize  their  spirits  in  its  light. 

Fling  out  the  banner  !  sin-sick  souls 
That  sink  and  perish  in  the  strife. 

Shall  touch  in  faith  its  radiant  hem, 
And  spring  immortal  into  life. 

Fling  out  the  banner !  let  it  float 

Skyward  and  seaward,  high  and  wide : 

Our  glory,  only  in  the  Cross ; 
Our  only  hope,  the  Crucified  ! 

Fling  out  the  banner  !  wide  and  high, 
Seaward  and  skyward  let  it  shine  : 

Nor  skill,  nor  might,  nor  merit  ours ; 
We  conquer  only  in  that  Sign. 

George  Washington  Doane 


SATURDAY 

T  ESUS,  still  lead  on, 

J      Till  our  rest  be  won  : 
And  although  the  way  be  cheerless. 
We  will  follow,  calm  and  fearless  : 

Guide  us  by  Thy  hand 

To  our  Fatherland. 

If  the  way  be  drear, 

If  the  foe  be  near, 
Let  not  faithless  fears  o'ertake  us, 
Let  not  faith  and  hope  forsake  us ; 

For,  through  many  a  foe, 

To  our  Home  we  go. 


FIFTH  SUNDAY  IN  LENT  137 

When  we  seek  relief 

From  a  long-felt  grief, 
When  temptations  come  alluring, 
Make  us  patient  and  enduring  : 

Show  us  that  bright  shore 

Where  we  weep  no  more. 

Jesus,  still  lead  on, 

Till  our  rest  be  won. 
Heavenly  Leader,  still  direct  us. 
Still  support,  console,  protect  us. 

Till  we  safely  stand 

In  our  Fatherland. 

Jane  Borthwick 


THE  FIFTH  SUNDAY  IN  LENT 

I  BORE  with  thee  long  weary  days  and  nights, 
Through  many  pangs  of  heart,  through  many 
tears ; 
I  bore  with  thee,  thy  hardness,  coldness,  slights, 
For  three  and  thirty  years. 

Who  else  had  dared  for  thee  what  I  have  dared  ? 

I   plunged    the    depth    most    deep    from    bliss 
above ; 
I  not  My  flesh,  I  not  My  spirit  spared : 

Give  thou  Me  love  for  love. 

For  thee  I  thirsted  in  the  daily  drought. 
For  thee  I  trembled  in  the  nightly  frost ; 

Much  sweeter  thou  than  honey  to  My  mouth ; 
Why  wilt  thou  still  be  lost  ? 


138  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

I  bore  thee  on  My  shoulders  and  rejoiced, 
Men  only  marked  upon  My  shoulders  borne 

The  branding  Cross  :  and  shouted  hungry-voiced, 
Or  wagged  their  heads  in  scorn. 

Thee  did  nails  grave  upon  My  hands  :  thy  name 
Did  thorns  for  frontlets  stamp  between  Mine 
eyes : 

I,  Holy  One,  put  on  thy  guilt  and  shame 
I,  God,  Priest,  Sacrifice. 

A  thief  upon  My  right  hand  and  My  left ; 

Six  hours  alone,  athirst,  in  misery : 
At  length  in  death  one  smote  My  heart,  and  cleft 

A  hiding-place  for  thee. 

Nailed  to  the  racking  Cross,  than  bed  of  down 
More  dear,  whereon  to  stretch  Myself  and  sleep : 

So  did  I  win  a  kingdom, — share  My  crown ; 
A  harvest, — come  and  reap. 

Christina  G.  Rossetti 


WEEK  OF  THE  FIFTH  SUNDAY  IN 
LENT 

MONDAY 

THOU,  Lord  of  all,  on  earth  hast  dwelt, 
Rejected  and  unknown ; 
What  bitter  grief  Thy  heart  hath  felt. 
Endured  by  Thee  alone  ! 

But  oh  !  how  full  of  truth  and  grace 
Through  all  Thou  dost  appear ! 


FIFTH  SUNDAY  IN  LENT  139 

And  thus  with  wonder  we  retrace 
Thy  path  of  sorrow  here. 

Thou  on  the  Cross  didst  suffer,  too,        j 
More  than  man's  eye  could  see ; 

For  then  the  wrath  that  was  our  due, 
Was  poured,  O  Lord,  on  Thee  ! 

But  Thou  art  risen  ;  and  now  we  know 

That  Thou,  in  Heaven  above. 
For  all  God's  children  here  below. 

Dost  feel  a  brother's  love. 

Oh,  may  we  ever  look  to  Thee 
For  needed  grace  and  strength. 

Till  we  Thy  face  in  glory  see. 
And  reign  with  Thee  at  length  ! 

Till  then  may  we,  who  bear  Thy  name. 

Thy  blest  example  take, 
And  count  the  world's  reproach  and  shame 

As  glory,  for  Thy  sake. 

Since  Thou  the  cup  of  wrath  didst  drain, 

None  now  for  us  is  there ; 
The  drops  of  sorrow  that  remain. 

Shall  we  refuse  to  share  ? 

Samuel  Prideaux  Tregelles 


TUESDAY 

JESUS,  these  eyes  have  never  seen 
That  radiant  Form  of  Thine ; 
The  veil  of  sense  hangs  dark  between 
Thy  blessed  Face  and  mine. 


140  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

I  see  Thee  not,  I  hear  Thee  not, 
,         Yet  art  Thou  oft  with  me ; 
I    And  earth  hath  ne'er  so  dear  a  spot 
As  where  I  meet  with  Thee. 

Like  some  bright  dream  that  comes  unsought, 

When  slumbers  o'er  me  roll. 
Thine  image  ever  fills  my  thought. 

And  charms  my  ravished  soul. 

Yet  though  I  have  not  seen,  and  still 

Must  rest  in  faith  alone, 
I  love  Thee,  dearest  Lord, — and  will, 

Unseen,  but  not  unknown. 

When  death  these  mortal  eyes  shall  seal. 

And  still  this  throbbing  heart, 
The  rending  veil  shall  Thee  reveal. 

All  glorious  as  Thou  art. 

Ray  Palmer 


WEDNESDAY 

JESUS  !  my  loving  Lord,  I  know. 
How  much  my  welfare  stands, 
In  loss  or  cross  for  Thee,  below. 
Therefore  I'm  in  Thy  hands  ; 
Do  aught  that  seemeth  good  to  Thee, 
But  hide  not  Thou  Thyself  from  me. 

'Tis  not  the  wilderness  I  dread. 

Its  peril  or  its  pain ; 
No  pathway  Thou  didst  ever  tread, 

But,  with  its  grief,  hath  gain : 
I  can  bear  all,  so  it  may  be, 

Thou  wilt  not  hide  Thyself  from  me. 


FIFTH  SUNDAY  IN  LENT  141 

And  well  I  know  Thou  dost  not  love 

That  gentle  face  to  hide ; 
Save  when  'tis  needful,  Thou  shouldst  prove, 

Or  mercy,  Thou  shouldst  chide : 
I  know  the  pain  it  gives  to  Thee, 

When  Thou  must  hide  Thyself  from  me. 

By  Thine  own  sorrow  on  the  Cross, 

That  agonizing  cry ; 
Thy  sense  of  that  one  moment's  loss. 

When  darkness  veiled  the  sky. 
And  hid  Thy  Father's  face  from  Thee  : — 

Hide  not  Thy  face,  O  Christ,  from  me. 
John  S.  B.  Monsell 


THURSDAY 

HOLY  of  Holies,"  awful  name- 
Where,  in  a  still  retreat. 
The  Presence  of  the  Godhead  dwelt. 

Upon  the  mercy-seat : 
Veiled  from  the  eye  in  darkness  dim. 
Enthroned  between  the  cherubim. 

Once  in  the  year,  within  the  veil, 

In  mystic  robes  arrayed, 
The  High  Priest  entered,  and  with  blood 

An  expiation  made ; 
But  blood  of  victims  could  not  cleanse 
And  purge  the  guilt  of  man's  offence. 

O  Great  Redeemer !  God  and  Man, 

Victim  and  Priest  in  one ; 
Thou,  entering  Heaven  with  Thine  own  Blood, 

Didst  once  for  all  atone  ; 


142   CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Thou  hast  removed  the  awful  cloud, 
Which  once  the  oracle  did  shroud. 

Now  a  bright  Rainbow  o'er  the  Throne 

Sheds  lustre  from  above, 
Where  showers  of  Judgment  mildly  shine, 

Gilded  by  beams  of  Love  ; 
Thy  Blood,  O  Lamb  of  God,  is  there, 
Pleading  for  us  with  ceaseless  Prayer. 

Cleansed  by  that  Blood,  we  now  approach 

Boldly  the  Throne  of  Grace  : 
O  may  we,  following  the  Lamb, 

Come  to  that  Holy  Place ; 
Lord,  Who  for  us  didst  deign  to  bleed, 
Be  Thou  our  help  in  time  of  need  ! 

Christopher  Wordsworth 


FRIDAY 

CHRIST,  Who  our  weak  flesh  didst  wear 
In  Thy  Life  so  sinless  fair 
And  didst  consecrate  our  frame 
As  a  temple  to  God's  Name, 
Life's  best  springs  are  found  in  Thee, 
Let  the  Christ  be  formed  in  me. 

Thou,  Who  didst  on  Calvary  show 
God's  strong  love,  and  man's  worst  woe, 
And  in  death  didst  manifest 
Sacrifice  for  ever  blest. 
Make  me  share  the  Cross  with  Thee, 
And  fulfil  Thy  life  in  me. 

Thou,  Who  rising  from  the  grave, 
Righteous,  pure,  and  strong  to  save, 


FIFTH  SUNDAY  IN  LENT  143 

Taughtest  men  new  life  to  find, 
In  deeds  holy,  true,  and  kind, 
Raise  me  up  from  sin  to  Thee, 
And  fulfil  Thy  life  in  me. 

Thou,  Who  at  Thy  travail's  end, 
To  Thy  Father  didst  ascend, 
And  in  leaving  earth  didst  prove, 
God  the  centre  of  all  love, 
In  a  love  that  yearns  to  Thee, 
Lord,  fulfil  Thy  life  in  me. 

Christ  incarnate,  crucified. 
King  of  all  things  far  and  wide, 
Who  hast  Life  for  evermore, 
Fill  me  from  Thy  boundless  store, 
Till  in  Heaven  Thy  face  I  see. 
And  fulfil  my  life  in  Thee. 

William  Boyd  Carpenter 


SATURDAY 

SORROW  weeps  !— 
And  drowns  its  bitterness  in  tears ; 
My  child  of  sorrow, 

Weep  out  the  fulness  of  thy  passionate  grief, 
And  drown  in  tears 
The  bitterness  of  lonely  years. 
God  gives  the  rain  and  sunshine  mild, 
And  both  are  best,  my  child ! 

Joy  weeps  ! — 

And  overflows  its  banks  with  tears ; 

My  child  of  joy. 

Weep  out  the  gladness  of  thy  pent-up  heart, 


144  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

And  let  thy  glistening  eyes 
Run  over  in  their  ecstasies  ; 
Life  needeth  joy ;  but  from  on  high 
Descends  what  cannot  die  ! 


Love  weeps ! — 

And  feeds  its  silent  life  with  tears ; 

My  child  of  love, 

Pour  out  the  riches  of  thy  yearning  heart, 

And,  like  the  air  of  even. 

Give  and  take  back  the  dew  of  heaven  ; 

And  let  that  longing  heart  of  thine 

Feed  upon  love  divine  ! 

HORATIUS    BONAR 


PALM  SUNDAY 

SEE  what  unbounded  zeal  and  love 
Inflamed  the  Saviour's  breast. 
When  steadfast  towards  Jerusalem 

His  urgent  way  He  prest. 
Good-will  to  man,  and  zeal  for  God 

His  every  thought  engross  : 
He  longs  to  be  baptized  with  blood, 
He  thirsts  to  reach  the  Cross. 

With  all  His  sufferings  full  in  view, 

And  wqes  to  us  unknown. 
Forth  to  the  work  His  spirit  flew, 

'Twas  love  that  urged  Him  on : 
By  His  obedience  unto  death 

See  Paradise  restored : 
And  fallen  man  brought  face  to  face 

With  his  forg'iving  Lord. 


MONDAY  IN  HOLY  WEEK  145 

Prepare  us,  Lord,  to  view  Thy  Cross, 

Who  all  our  griefs  hast  borne  ; 
To  look  on  Thee,  Whom  we  have  pierced, 

To  look  on  Thee,  and  mourn  : 
While  thus  we  mourn,  may  we  rejoice. 

And  as  Thy  Cross  we  see. 
May  each  exclaim  in  faith  and  hope, 

"  The  Saviour  died  for  me  !  " 


MONDAY  IN  HOLY  WEEK 

WHO  is  this,  with  garments  gory. 
Triumphing  from  Bozrah's  way. 
This,  that  weareth  robes  of  glory. 

Bright,  with  more  than  Vict'ry's  ray ; 
Who  is  this  unw^earied  Comer 

From  the  journey's  sultry  length, 
Travelling  through  Idume's  summer. 
In  the  greatness  of  His  strength  ! 

Wherefore  red  in  Thine  apparel. 

Like  the  conquerors  of  earth, 
And  arrayed  like  those  who  carol 

O'er  the  reeking  vineyard's  mirth. 
Who  art  Thou,  the  valleys  seeking. 

Where  our  peaceful  harvests  wave  ! 
I — in  righteous  anger  speaking, 

I — the  mighty  One  to  save. 

I — that  of  the  raging  heathen 
Trod  the  wine-press  all  alone. 

Now  in  victor  garlands  wreathen, 
Coming  to  redeem  Mine  own. 


146  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

I  am  He  with  sprinkled  raiment, 
Glorious  from  My  vengeance  hour, 

Ransoming  with  priceless  payment, 
And  delivering  with  power. 

Hail,  all  hail,  Thou  Lord  of  Glory  ! 

Thee  our  Father — Thee  we  own  ! 
Abra'm  heard  not  of  our  story, 

Israel  ne'er  our  name  hath  known ; 
But,  Redeemer,  Thou  hast  sought  us. 

Thou  hast  heard  Thy  children's  wail. 
Thou  with  Thy  dear  Blood  hast  bought  us, 

Hail,  Thou  mighty  Victor,  hail ! 

Arthur  Cleveland  Coxe 


TUESDAY  IN  HOLY  WEEK 

IN  the  wound  of  Thy  Right  Hand 
Each  earthly  toil  I  view  : 
By  Thee  my  efforts  stand, 

Thine  arm  doth  bring  me  through. 
Hail,  Holy  Blood,  life-spring  of  every  nerve ; 
Strengthen  my  heart  to  worship,  will,  and  serve. 

In  Thy  Left  Hand's  purple  stream 
Each  deed  of  love  I  lave. 
Till  of  them  all  I  deem 

As  steeped  in  that  bright  wave. 
Hail,  Holy  Wounds  ;  my  worthless  actions  fill ; 
Upon  their  lifelessness  Thy  dews  distil. 

In  Thy  Right  Foot's  holy  scar 

My  spirit-vision  sees 
Dimly  and  from  afar 

Thy  human  sympathies. 


WEDNESDAY  IN  HOLY  WEEK      147 

Lord  !  may  Thy  sacred  footprints,  day  by  day, 
Mark  for  our  feet  the  true  and  perfect  way. 


In  Thy  Left  Foot's  crimson  track 

Thy  fainting  steps  I  trace, 
When  Thou  didst  fetch  me  back, 

A  wanderer,  from  the  waste. 
Hail,  Sacred  Feet  that  did  the  winepress  tread 
Of  Heaven's  fierce  wrath,  and  heaUng  virtue  shed. 

In  Thy  loving  Heart's  red  wound 

Thy  Church  her  cares  may  steep  ; 

Within  its  depths  inhumed 

May  wait  and  watch  and  weep. 

O  bleeding  Lamb,  our  Saviour  and  our  Guide, 

Our  All  Thou  art,  and  there  is  none  beside. 


WEDNESDAY  IN  HOLY  WEEK 

JESUS,  we  rest  in  Thee ; 
In  Thee  ourselves  we  hide ; 
Laden  with  guilt  and  misery, 

Where  could  we  rest  beside  ? 
'Tis  on  Thy  meek  and  lowly  Breast 
Our  weary  souls  alone  can  rest ! 

Thou  Holy  One  of  God  ! 

The  Father  rests  in  Thee ; 
And  in  the  savour  of  that  Blood, 

Once  shed  on  Calvary, 
The  curse  is  gone ;  through  Thee  we're  blest  j 
God  rests  in  Thee ;  in  Thee  we  rest. 


148  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

The  slaves  of  sin  and  fear — 

Thy  truth  our  bondage  broke ; 

Our  happy  spirits  love  to  wear 
Thy  light  and  easy  yoke. 

The  love  which  fills  our  grateful  breast 

Makes  duty  joy,  and  labour  rest. 

Soon  the  bright  glorious  Day, 

The  Rest  of  God  shall  come  ; 

Sorrow  and  sin  shall  pass  away, 

And  we  shall  reach  our  Home ; 

Then,  of  the  promised  land  possessed, 

Our  souls  shall  know  eternal  rest. 

J.  G.  Deck 


MAUNDY  THURSDAY 

O  BLESSED  Jesus  !  when  I  see  Thee  bending, 
Girt  as  a  servant,  at  Thy  servants'  feet. 
Love,  lowliness,  and  might,  in  zeal  all  blending. 
To  wash  their  dust  away,  and  make  them  meet 
To  share  Thy  Feast ;  I  know  not  to  adore. 
Whether  Thy  humbleness  or  glory  more. 

Conscious  Thou  art  of  that  dread  hour  impending, 
When  Thou  must  hang  in  anguish  on  the  Tree ; 
Yet,  as  from  the  beginning,  to  the  ending 
Of  Thy  sad  life,  Thine  own  are  dear  to  Thee, — 
And  Thou  wilt  prove  to  them,  ere  Thou  dost  part. 
The  untold  love  which  fills  Thy  faithful  heart. 

Meek  Jesus  !  to  my  soul.  Thy  spirit  lending. 
Teach  me  to  live,  like  Thee,  in  lowly  love ; 

With  humblest  service  all  Thy  saints  befriending, 
Until  I  serve  before  Thy  Throne  above — 


GOOD  FRIDAY  149 

Yes  !  serving  e'en  my  foes,  for  Thou  didst  seek 
Tlie  feet  of  Judas  in  Thy  service  meek. 

Daily  my  pilgrim  feet,  as  homeward  wending 
My  weary  way,  are  sadly  stained  with  sin ; 

Daily  do  Thou,  Thy  precious  grace  expending, 
Wash  me  all  clean  without,  and  clean  within. 

And  make  me  fit  to  have  a  part  with  Thee 

And  Thine,  at  last,  in  Heaven's  festivity. 

O  blessed  name  of  Servant  !  comprehending 
Man's  highest  honour  in  his  humblest  name ; 

For  Thou,  God's  Christ,  that  office  recommending, 
The  throne  of  mighty  power  didst  truly  claim ; 

He  who  would  rise  like  Thee,  like  Thee  must  owe 

His  glory  only  to  his  stooping  low. 

George  W.  Bethune 


GOOD  FRIDAY 

WHEN  scorn,  and  hate,   and  bitter  envious 
pride 
Hurled  all  their  darts  against  the  Crucified, 
Found  they  no  fault  but  this  in  Him  so  tried  ? 
"  He  saved  others  !  " 

Those  hands,  thousands  their  heaUng  touches  knew; 
On  withered  limbs  they  fell  like  heavenly  dew  ; 
The  dead  have  felt  them  and  have  lived  anew  : 
"  He  saved  others  !  " 

The  blood  is  dropping  slowly  from  them  now ; 
Thou  canst  not  raise  them  to  Thy  thorn-crown'd 

brow. 
Nor  on  them  Thy  parched  lips  and  forehead  bow : 
"  He  saved  others  ! " 


150  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

That  Voice  from  out  their  graves  the  dead  hath 

stirred ; 
Crushed,  outcast  hearts,  grew  joyful  as  they  heard ; 
For  every  woe  it  had  a  healing  word  : 

"  He  saved  others  ! " 

For  all  Thou  hadst  deep  tones  of  sympathy — 
Hast  Thou  no  word  for  this  Thine  agony  ? 
Thou  pitiedst  all ;  doth  no  man  pity  Thee  ? 
"  He  saved  others  ! " 

So  many  fettered  hearts  Thy  touch  hath  freed, 
Physician !    and    Thy  wound    unstanched    must 

bleed ; 
Hast  Thou  no  balm  for  this  Thy  sorest  need  ? 
"  He  saved  others  ! " 

Lord !  and  one  sign   from  Thee  could  rend  the 

sky. 
One  word  from  Thee,  and  low  those  mockers  lie ; 
Thou  mak'st  no  movement,  utterest  no  cry. 

And  savest  us. 
Elizabeth  Rundle  Charles 


JESUS  !  gentle  Sufferer,  say, 
How  shall  we  this  dreadful  day 
Near  Thee  draw,  and  to  Thee  pray  ? 

We,  whose  proneness  to  forget 

Thy  dear  love,  on  Olivet 

Bathed  Thy  brow  with  bloody  sweat ; 

We,  whose  sins,  with  awful  power, 
Like  a  cloud  did  o'er  Thee  lower, 
In  that  God-excluding  hour ; 


EASTER  EVE  151 

We,  who  still,  in  thought  and  deed, 

Often  hold  the  bitter  reed 

To  Thee,  in  Thy  time  of  need, — 

Canst  Thou  pardon  us,  and  pray. 
As  for  those  who  on  this  day 
Took  Thy  precious  life  away  ? 

Yes  !  Thy  Blood  is  all  my  plea ; 
It  was  shed,  and  shed  for  me, 
Therefore  to  Thy  Cross  I  flee. 

At  Thy  feet,  in  dust  and  shame, 
I  dare  breathe  Thy  holy  Name, 
And  a  great  salvation  claim. 

Save  me,  Jesus  :  stoop  and  take 

Pity  on  my  soul,  and  make 

This  day  bright,  for  Thy  dear  sake. 

John  S.  B.  Monsell 


EASTER  EVE 

I  SAW  two  women  weeping  by  the  tomb 
Of  One  new  buried,  in  a  fair  green  place 
Bowered  with  shrubs  ; — the  eve  retained  no  trace 
Of  aught  that  day  performed, — but  the  faint  gloom 
Of  dying  day  was  spread  upon  the  sky ; — 

The  moon  was   broad   and   bright   above   the 

wood ; — 
The  distance  sounded  of  a  multitude. 
Music  and  shout  and  mingled  revelry. 
At  length  came  gleaming  through  the  thicket  shade 
Helmet  and  casque — and  a  steel-armed  band 


152   CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Watched  round  the  sepulchre  in  solemn  stand  ; 
The  night-word  passed,  from  man  to  man  conveyed 
And  I  could  see  those  women  rise  and  go 
Under  the  dark  trees  moving  sad  and  slow. 

Henry  Alford 


EASTER  DAY 

AWAKE,  glad  soul !  awake  !  awake  ! 
Thy  Lord  hath  risen  long, 
Go  to  His  grave,  and  with  thee  take 

Both  tuneful  heart  and  song ; 
Where  life  is  waking  all  around, 

Where  love's  sweet  voices  sing. 
The  first  bright  Blossom  may  be  found 
Of  an  Eternal  Spring. 

O  Love  !  which  lightens  all  distress, 

Love,  death  cannot  destroy  : 
O  Grave  !  whose  very  emptiness 

To  Faith  is  full  of  joy; 
Let  but  that  Love  our  hearts  supply 

From  Heaven's  exhaustless  Spring, 
Then,  Grave,  where  is  thy  victory  ? 

And,  Death,  where  is  thy  sting? 

The  shade  and  gloom  of  life  are  fled 

This  Resurrection-day ; 
Henceforth  in  Christ  are  no  more  dead, 

The  grave  hath  no  more  prey  : 
In  Christ  we  live,  in  Christ  we  sleep. 

In  Christ  we  wake  and  rise ; 
And  the  sad  tears  death  makes  us  weep, 

He  wipes  from  all  our  eyes. 


EASTER  DAY  153 

And  every  bird  and  every  tree 

And  every  opening  flower  , 

Proclaim  His  glorious  victory,  ', 

His  resurrection-power : 
The  folds  are  glad,  the  fields  rejoice. 

With  vernal  verdure  spread  ; 
The  little  hills  lift  up  their  voice, 

And  shout  that  Death  is  dead. 

Then  wake,  glad  heart !  awake  !  awake  ! 

And  seek  thy  risen  Tord, 
Joy  in  His  Resurrection  take. 

And  comfort  in  His  Word ; 
And  let  thy  life,  through  all  its  ways, 

One  long  thanksgiving  be. 
Its  theme  of  joy,  its  song  of  praise, 

"Christ  died,  and  rose  for  me." 

John  S.  B.  Monsell 


HE  is  risen.  He  is  risen, 
Tell  it  with  a  joyful  voice, 
He  has  burst  His  three  days'  prison, 
Let  the  whole  wide  earth  rejoice ; 
Death  is  conquered,  man  is  free, 
Christ  has  won  the  victory. 

Tell  it  to  the  sinners,  weeping 
Over  deeds  in  darkness  done, 
Weary  fast  and  vigil  keeping, 
Brightly  breaks  their  Easter  sun  : 
Blood  can  wash  all  sins  away, 
Christ  has  conquered  hell  to-day. 

Come,  ye  sad  and  fearful  hearted, 
With  glad  smile  and  radiant  brow  ; 


154  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Lent's  long  shadows  have  departed, 

All  His  woes  are  over  now, 
And  the  Passion  that  He  bore ; 
Sin  and  pain  can  vex  no  more. 

Come,  with  high  and  holy  hymning 
Chant  our  Lord's  triumphant  lay ; 
Not  one  darksome  cloud  is  dimming 
Yonder  glorious  morning  ray 

Breaking  o'er  the  purple  East ; 

Brighter  far  our  Easter  feast. 

He  is  risen,  He  is  risen. 

He  has  ope'd  the  eternal  gate ; 

We  are  free  from  sin's  dark  prison. 

Risen  to  a  holier  state. 
And  a  brighter  Easter  beam 
On  our  longing  eyes  shall  stream. 

Cecil  Frances  Alexander 


MONDAY  IN  EASTER  WEEK 

AWAKE,  thou  wintry  earth. 
Fling  off  thy  sadness  ; 
Fair  vernal  flowers  laugh  forth 
Your  ancient  gladness : 

Christ  is  risen. 


Wave,  woods,  your  blossoms  all. 
Grim  Death  is  dead  ; 

Ye  weeping  funeral  trees. 
Lift  up  your  head. 

Christ  is  risen. 


TUESDAY  IN  EASTER  WEEK       155 

Come,  see,  the  graves  are  green  ; 

It  is  light ;  let  us  go 
Where  our  loved  ones  rest 

In  hope  below. 

Christ  is  risen. 


All  is  fresh  and  new, 

Full  of  spring  and  light  j 

Wintry  heart,  why  wearest  the  hue 
Of  sleep  and  night  ? 

Christ  is  risen. 


Leave  thy  cares  beneath. 

Leave  thy  worldly  love ; 
Begin  the  better  life 
With  God  above. 

Christ  is  risen. 
Thomas  Blackburne 


TUESDAY  IN  EASTER  WEEK 

WHY  for  thy  Lord  dost  thou  thus  weep  and 
mourn 
Like  one  half  broken-hearted  and  forlorn  ? 
No  need  for  Him  that  thou  shouldst  mourn  and 

weep, 
No  need  with  tears  an  empty  shroud  to  steep. 

He  Whom  thou  seekest  in  the  murky  tomb 
Hath  sprung  bright  and  victorious  from  the  gloom ; 
He  lives,  He  greatly  lives  for  evermore ; 
See  open  wide  the  rock's  sepulchral  door ! 


iS6  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Why  bring'st  thou  myrrh  and  spices,  offerings  meet 
For  paUid  corpses  in  their  winding  sheet  ? 
His  Body  blooms  with  immortaHty, 
Meet  to  return  to  His  paternal  sky. 

Thy  tears  proclaim  the  greatness  of  thy  love, 
Nor  doth  thy  Lord  thy  streaming  tears  reprove ; 
Hear'st  thou?  and  know'st  thou  not  that  voice 

adored  ? 
'Tis  thine  own  name !  He  speaks— thy  God  and 

Lord. 

Now  go  first  witness  and  first  messenger  : 
Throughout  the  city  thy  glad  tidings  bear, 
And  tell  the  twelve  that  Christ  Himself  is  nigh, 
And,  wheresoe'er  thou  speakest,  standing  by. 

Isaac  Williams 


WEDNESDAY  IN  EASTER  WEEK 

TO  Him,  Who  for  our  sins  was  slain, 
To  Him,  for  all  His  dying  pain, 

Sing  we  Hallelujah  ! 
To  Him,  the  Lamb  our  sacrifice, 
Who  gave  His  soul  our  ransom-price. 

Sing  we  Hallelujah  ! 

To  Him,  Who  died  that  we  might  die 
To  sin,  and  live  with  Him  on  high. 

Sing  we  Hallelujah ! 
To  Him,  Who  rose  that  we  might  rise 
And  reign  with  Him  beyond  the  skies. 

Sing  we  Hallelujah ! 


THURSDAY  IN  EASTER  WEEK     157 

To  Him,  Who  now  for  us  doth  plead, 
And  helpeth  us  in  all  our  need,  • 

Sing  we  Hallelujah  ! 
To  Him,  Who  doth  prepare  on  high 
Our  home  in  immortality. 

Sing  we  Hallelujah  ! 

To  Him  be  glory  evermore ; 

Ye  heavenly  hosts,  your  Lord  adore ; 

Sing  we  Hallelujah  ! 
To  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost, 
One  God  most  great,  our  joy  and  boast. 

Sing  we  Hallelujah ! 
Arthur  Tozer  Russell 


THURSDAY  IN  EASTER  WEEK 

ON  the  Cross  we  saw  Him  dying, 
Saw  Him  mid  the  spices  lying. 
Saw  the  nail-prints,  and  the  spear-wound,  as  we 
laid  Him  in  the  tomb ; 
And  we  wept  in  anguish  weary 
Through  the  Sabbath  dim  and  dreary. 
And  our  souls  were  heavy-laden  with  the  horror 
and  the  gloom. 

Oh  the  rush  of  joy  returning  ! 

Oh  our  hearts  within  us  burning 
Very  early  in  the  morning,  at  the  rosy  dawn  of  day  ! 

Is  it  true.  Oh  starry  Angel 

Herald  of  the  great  Evangel  ? 
Mary,  Peter,  Holy  Women — did  ye  see  Him  as 
ye  say  ? 


158  CHURCFIMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Yea,  we  saw  Him  with  us  walking, 
Heard  Him  in  the  twilight  talking, 
Saw   Him   by   the  grassy   margent  of  the  misty 
silver  sea : 
Saw  Him — we,  the  loved  Eleven, 
Gathered  in  the  solemn  Even, 
Saw   Him — the   five   hundred   brethren — on    the 
hill  of  GaHlee. 

Christ  is  risen  !     He  is  risen  ! 

He  hath  left  the  rocky  prison, 
And   the   white-robed   Angels   glimmer   mid   the 
cerements  of  His  grave ; 

He  hath  smitten  with  His  thunder 

Every  gate  of  brass  asunder. 
He  hath  burst  the  iron  fetters — irresistible  to  save  ! 

Oh  the  gladness  and  the  glory 
Of  the  blessed  Easter  story  ! 
Oh  the  quick  electric  thrilling  of  the  Pentecostal 
flame ! 
Death  of  death,  of  life  the  Giver, 
Reign,  oh  Victor  King,  for  ever  ! 
Lowly  we  Thy  sons  adore  Thee  !     Glory,  Glory 
to  Thy  Name ! 

Frederick  William  Farrar 


FRIDAY  IN  EASTER  WEEK 

IT  happen'd  on  a  solemn  eventide, 
Soon  after  He  that  was  our  Surety  died. 
Two  bosom  friends,  each  pensively  inclined. 
The  scene  of  all  those  sorrows  left  behind. 
Sought  their  own  village,  busied  as  they  went 
In  musings  worthy  of  the  great  event : 


SATURDAY  IN  EASTER  WEEK      159 

They  spake  of  Him  they  loved,  of  Him  Whose  Hfe, 

Though  blameless,  had  incurr'd  perpetual  strife. 

Whose  deeds  had  left,  in  spite  of  hostile  arts, 

A  deep  memorial  graven  on  their  hearts. 

The  recollection,  like  a  vein  of  ore. 

The  farther  traced,  enrich'd  them  still  the  more ; 

They  thought  Him,  and  they  justly  thought  Him, 

One 
Sent  to  do  more  than  He  appear'd  to  have  done ; 
To  exalt  a  people,  and  to  place  them  high 
Above  all  else,  and  wonder'd  He  should  die. 
Ere  yet  they  brought  their  journey  to  an  end, 
A  Stranger  join'd  them,  courteous  as  a  friend, 
And  ask'd  them,  with  a  kind  engaging  air. 
What  their  affliction  was,  and  begg'd  a  share. 
Inform'd,  He  gather'd  up  the  broken  thread. 
And,  truth  and  wisdom  gracing  all  He  said, 
Explain'd,  illustrated,  and  search'd  so  well 
The  tender  theme  on  which  they  chose  to  dwell, 
That,  reaching  home,  the  night,  they  said,  is  near. 
We  must  not  now  be  parted,  sojourn  here. — 
The  new  acquaintance  soon  became  a  guest. 
And  made  so  welcome  at  their  simple  feast, 
He  bless'd  the  bread,  but  vanish'd  at  the  word, 
And  left  them  both  exclaiming,  'Twas  the  Lord ! 
Did  not  our  hearts  feel  all  He  deign'd  to  say. 
Did  they  not  burn  within  us  by  the  way  ? 

William  Cowper 


SATURDAY  IN  EASTER  WEEK 

NOW  theirs  was  converse  such  as  it  behoves 
Man  to  maintain,  and  such  as  God  approves  : 
Their  views  indeed  were  indistinct  and  dim. 
But  yet  successful,  being  aim'd  at  Him. 


i6o  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Christ  and  His  character  their  only  scope, 
Their  object,  and  their  subject,  and  their  hope. 
They  felt  what  it  became  them  much  to  feel, 
And,  wanting  Him  to  loose  the  sacred  seal, 
Found  Him  as  prompt,  as  their  desire  was  true, 
To  spread  the  new-born  glories  in  their  view. 
Well — what  are  ages  and  the  lapse  of  time 
Match'd  against  truths  as  lasting  as  sublime  ? 
Can  length  of  years  on  God  Himself  exact, 
Or  make  that  fiction  which  was  once  a  fact  ? 
No — marble  and  recording  brass  decay. 
And,  like  the  graver's  memory,  pass  away ; 
The  works  of  man  inherit,  as  is  just, 
Their  author's  frailty,  and  return  to  dust ; 
Their  truth  divine  for  ever  stands  secure, 
Its  head  is  guarded  as  its  base  is  sure ; 
Fix'd  in  the  rolling  flood  of  endless  years 
The  pillar  of  the  eternal  plan  appears, 
The  raving  storm  and  dashing  wave  defies, 
Built  by  that  Architect  Who  built  the  skies. 
Hearts  may  be  found  that  harbour  at  this  hour 
That  love  of  Christ  in  all  its  quickening  power ; 
And  lips  unstain'd  by  folly  or  by  strife, 
Whose  wisdom,  drawn  from  the  deep  well  of  life, 
Tastes  of  its  healthful  origin,  and  flows 
A  Jordan  for  the  ablution  of  our  woes. 

William  Cowper 


THE  FIRST  SUNDAY  AFTER  EASTER 

V^HEN  Royal  Truth,  released  from  mortal  throes, 
^  '     Burst  His  brief  slumber,  and  triumphant  rose, 

111  had  the  Holiest  sued 

A  patron  multitude, 


FIRST  SUNDAY  AFTER  EASTER     i6i 

Or  courted  Tetrarch's  eye,  or  claimed  to  rule 
By  the  world's  winning  grace,  or  proofs  from  learned 
school. 

But  robing  Him  in  viewless  air.  He  told 
His  secret  to  a  few  of  meanest  mould  ; 
They  in  their  turn  imparted 
The  gift  to  men  pure-hearted. 
While  the  brute  many  heard  His  mysteries  high. 
As  some  strange  fearful  tongue,  and  crouched  they 
knew  not  why. 

Still  is  the  might  of  Truth,  as  it  has  been : 
Lodged  in  the  few,  obeyed,  and  yet  unseen. 
Reared  on  lone  heights,  and  rare. 
His  Saints  their  watch-flame  bear, 
And  the  mad  world  sees  the  wide-circling  blaze, 
Vain-searching  whence   it   streams,   and   how   to 
quench  its  rays. 

John  Henry  Newman 


WEEK  OF  THE  FIRST  SUNDAY  AFTER 
EASTER 

MONDAY 

WHY  art  Thou  not,  O  Saviour,  here. 
As  midst  the  Apostles'  band  Thou  wast  ? 
They  need  Thee  not  in  loftier  sphere. 

With  all  their  cares  and  sorrows  past ; 
But  here  we  wish  Thee  every  day, 
To  come,  and,  "  Peace  be  with  you,"  say. 

L 


i62  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Why  is  this  whirl  in  heart  and  brain, 

When  but  Thy  word  the  whole  could  calm  ? 

Why  all  this  weakness  felt,  and  pain, 

When   Thou  couldst  yield   both   strength  and 
balm? 

"If  Thou  hadst  but  been  here,"  we  cry, 

"  Cause  had  not  come  to  faint  or  sigh." 

O  Saviour,  feeble  flesh  cries  out 

For  something  which  with  sense  agrees ; 

Still  it  renews  the  Apostle's  doubt. 
Because  it  handles  not,  nor  sees ; 

Forgetting  what  a  boon  receives 

He  who,  though  seeing  not,  believes. 

E'en  when  Thy  death  hath  paid  our  debt, 

Saviour,  to  us,  as  those  of  old. 
Thou  prov'st  a  Master  absent  yet. 

Though  from  the  tomb  the  stone  be  rolled : 
Near  us  Thou  art,  yet  mak'st  appear 
Only  at  times  Thy  Presence  clear. 

Lord  Kinloch 

TUESDAY 

LORD,  with  what  courage  and  delight 
I  do  each  thing. 
When  Thy  least  breath  sustains  my  wing ! 
I  shine  and  move 
Like  those  above, 
And,  with  much  gladness 
Quitting  sadness. 
Make  me  fair  days  of  every  night. 

Affliction  thus  mere  pleasure  is  : 
And  hap  what  will, 


FIRST  SUNDAY  AFTER  EASTER     163 

If  Thou  be  in't,  'tis  welcome  still. 

But  since  Thy  rays 

In  sunny  days 

Thou  thus  dost  lend, 

And  freely  spend, 
Ah  !  what  shall  I  return  for  this  ? 

O  that  I  were  all  soul !  that  Thou 

Wouldst  make  each  part 
Of  this  poor  sinful  frame  pure  heart ! 

Then  would  I  drown 

My  single  one ; 

And  to  Thy  praise 

A  concert  raise 
Of  Alleluias  here  below. 

Henry  Vaughan 


WEDNESDAY 

SPRING  is  but  another  birth, 
From  the  grave  of  earlier  springs, 
Which  to  renovated  earth 
Other  resurrection  brings. 

God  hath  moulded  all  that  God's 

Power  could  mould,  from  mortal  dust ; 

Flowers  and  fruits,  from  clouds  and  clods. 
Life  from  ruin  and  from  rust. 

'Twas  a  wondrous  hand  that  laid 

In  the  seed  the  unborn  tree ; 
Bud  and  blossom  in  the  blade, 

Future  ripened  fruit  to  be. 


1 64  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Still  more  wondrous  was  the  might 
That,  from  night's  obscurest  shrine, 

Brought  forth  intellectual  light. 

Souls  with  thoughts  and  hopes  divine. 

Yes  ?  'twas  a  transcendent  power 
Which,  for  earth's  contracted  whole, 

Gave  to  Heaven  a  worthy  dower, 
Gave  an  ever-living  soul. 

Less  than  earth  to  Heaven,  and  less 
Than  to  ages  moments  seem. 

Is  the  world  we  now  possess, 

To  the  world  of  which  we  dream. 

Earthly  love  is  faint  and  small, 
^  When  compared  with  the  embrace 

Of  a  love  encircling  all. 
Through  all  time  and  o'er  all  space. 

Sir  John  Bowring 


THURSDAY 

LIGHT  of  the  better  morning, 
Shine  down  on  me  ! 
Sun  of  the  brighter  Heaven, 

Bid  darkness  flee ! 
Thy  warmth  impart 
To  this  dull  heart : 
Pour  in  Thy  light. 
And  let  this  night 
Be  turned  to  day 
By  Thy  mild  ray  ! 
Lord  Jesus,  come. 
Thou  Day-star,  shine. 


FIRST  SUNDAY  AFTER  EASTER     165 

Enlighten  now 

This  soul  of  mine  1 
Streaks  of  the  better  dawning 

Break  on  my  sight, 
Fringing  with  silver  edges 

These  clouds  of  night. 
Gems  on  morn's  brow, 
Glow,  brightly  glow, 
Foretelling  soon 
The  ascending  noon, 
Wakening  this  earth 
To  second  birth, 

When  He  shall  come 
To  earth  again, 

Who  comes  to  judge. 
Who  comes  to  reign. 

HORATIUS  BONAR 


FRIDAY 

MY  God,  I  thank  Thee,  Who  hast  made 
The  Earth  so  bright ; 
So  full  of  splendour  and  of  joy, 

Beauty  and  light ; 
So  many  glorious  things  are  here 
Noble  and  right ! 

I  thank  Thee,  too,  that  Thou  hast  made 

Joy  to  abound ; 
So  many  gentle  thoughts  and  deeds 

Circling  us  round, 
That  in  the  darkest  spot  of  Earth 

Some  love  is  found. 

I  thank  Thee  more  that  all  our  joy 
Is  touched  with  pain  ; 


66  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

That  shadows  fall  on  brightest  hours ; 

That  thorns  remain ; 
So  that  Earth's  bliss  may  be  our  guide, 

And  not  our  chain. 

For  Thou  Who  knowest,  Lord,  how  soon 

Our  weak  heart  clings, 
Hast  given  us  joys,  tender  and  true, 

Yet  all  with  wings. 
So  that  we  see,  gleaming  on  high. 

Diviner  things ! 

I  thank  Thee,  Lord,  that  Thou  hast  kept 

The  best  in  store  ; 
We  have  enough,  yet  not  too  much 

To  long  for  more  : 
A  yearning  for  a  deeper  peace. 

Not  known  before. 


I  thank  Thee,  Lord,  that  here  our  souls. 

Though  amply  blest. 
Can  never  find,  although  they  seek, 

A  perfect  rest, — 
Nor  ever  shall,  until  they  lean 

On  Jesus'  breast ! 

Adelaide  Anne  Procter 


SATURDAY 

OT  as  a  fallen  stone, 

Abiding  where  it  hath  been  flung, 
Did  Christ  remain  the  dead  among, 
But  sprang  from  Hades'  deep  invisible  zone. 
As  the  corn  springs  from  where  it  has  been  thrown  ! 


N 


SECOND  SUNDAY  AFTER  EASTER     167 

Not,  as  at  Nain  of  yore 
The  young  man  rose  to  die  again, 
Did  He  resume  the  haunts  of  men, 
But  closed  behind  Him  Death's  reluctant  door 
And  triumphed  on  to  live  for  evermore  ! 

Not,  as  we  spend  our  days, 
Subject  to  sorrows,  pains,  and  fears, 
Does  He  persist  a  Man  of  tears  ; 
Henceforth  He  feels  no  touch  of  our  decays, 
But  inexpressive  joy  in  all  His  ways  ! 

Not  for  Himself  alone 
He  fought,  and  won  that  glorious  life : 
For  us  He  conquered  in  the  strife. 
That  we  might  make  His  victory  our  own, 
And  rise  with  Him  before  the  Father's  Throne  ! 


Thus  hath  the  Saviour  brought 
Our  immortality  to  light ! 

O  may  He  tarry  in  our  sight,  }^ 

That,  clinging  fast  to  Him  with  every  thought. 
We  may  partake  the  triumph  He  has  wrought ! 
'   G.  T.  S.  Farquhar 


THE  SECOND  SUNDAY   AFTER  EASTER 

WHEN  Israel,  of  the  Lord  beloved, 
Out  from  the  land  of  bondage  came, 
Her  father's  God  before  her  moved, 
An  awful  guide  in  smoke  and  flame. 


1 68  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

By  day,  along  the  astonished  lands 

The  cloudy  pillar  glided  slow ; 
By  night,  Arabia's  crimsoned  sands 

Returned  the  fiery  column's  glow. 

There  rose  the  choral  hymn  of  praise, 

And  trump  and  timbrel  answered  keen ; 
And  Zion's  daughters  poured  their  lays, 

With  priest's  and  warrior's  voice  between. 
No  portents  now  our  foes  amaze, 

Forsaken  Israel  wanders  lone  ; 
Our  fathers  would  not  know  Thy  ways, 

And  Thou  hast  left  them  to  their  own. 

But,  present  still,  though  now  unseen, 

When  brightly  shines  the  prosperous  day. 
Be  thoughts  of  Thee  a  cloudy  screen. 

To  temper  the  deceitful  ray, 
And  oh,  when  stoops  on  Judah's  path 

In  shade  and  storm  the  frequent  night, 
Be  Thou,  long-suffering,  slow  to  wrath, 

A  burning  and  a  shining  light. 

Our  harps  we  left  by  Babel's  streams. 

The  tyrant's  jest,  the  Gentile's  scorn ; 
No  censer  round  our  altar  beams. 

And  mute  are  timbrel,  trump,  and  horn. 
But  Thou  hast  said.  The  blood  of  goat. 

The  flesh  of  rams,  I  will  not  prize ; 
A  contrite  heart,  a  humble  thought. 

Are  Mine  accepted  sacrifice. 

Sir  Walter  Scott 


SECOND  SUNDAY  AFTER  EASTER     169 

WEEK    OF    THE   SECOND   SUNDAY 
AFTER  EASTER 

MONDAY 

OLORD,  our  Lord,  in  all  the  earth 
How  bright  Thy  Name,  how  high  ! 
Thou  Who  hast  pour'd  Thy  glory  forth 
Beyond  th'  eternal  sky. 

By  lips  that  hang  upon  the  breast 

Thou  hast  ordain'd  Thee  might 
For  war,  to  lay  the  foe  to  rest, 

And  still  th'  avenger's  spite. 

When  gazing  on  the  Heavens,  I  see 

The  work  of  Thine  own  hand, 
The  moon  and  stars,  array'd  by  Thee 

In  order  as  they  stand ; 

What  is  frail  man,  for  Thee  to  bear 

In  memory  and  in  mind  ? 
Or  wherefore  visit  with  Thy  care 

The  child  of  base  mankind  ? 

Thou  sett'st  him  where  is  Httle  space 

'Twixt  him  and  Powers  divine. 
With  glory  crovvn'st  him,  and  with  grace, 

O'er  every  work  of  Thine. 

His  is  the  sway  :  the  Word  from  Thee 

Put  all  beneath  his  feet. 
Both  flock  and  herd,  yea  wild  beast  free, 

And  fowls  of  Heaven  so  fleet, 


I70  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

And  fishes  of  the  sea,  whate'er 
GHdes  deep  in  ocean  ways. — 

Oj  Lord,  our  Lord,  how  dread  and  fair 
In  all  the  earth  Thy  praise  ! 

John  Keble 

TUESDAY 

KNOW  well,  my  soul,  God's  hand  controls 
Whate'er  thou  fearest ; 
Round  Him  in  calmest  music  rolls 
Whate'er  thou  hearest. 

What  to  thee  is  shadow,  to  Him  is  day, 

And  the  end  He  knoweth, 
And  not  on  a  blind  and  aimless  way 

The  spirit  goeth. 

Man  sees  no  future — a  phantom  show 

Is  alone  before  him  : 
Past  Time  is  dead  and  the  grasses  grow, 

And  flowers  bloom  o'er  him. 

Nothing  before,  nothing  behind ; 

The  steps  of  Faith 
Fall  on  the  seeming  void,  and  find 

The  rock  beneath. 

The  Present,  the  Present  is  all  thou  hast 

For  thy  sure  possessing  ; 
Like  the  patriarch's  Angel,  hold  it  fast 

Till  it  gives  its  blessing. 

Why  fear  the  night  ?  why  shrink  from  Death  ? 

That  phantom  wan  ? 
There  is  nothing  in  Heaven  or  earth  beneath, 

Save  God  and  man. 


SECOND  SUNDAY  AFTER  EASTER     171 

Peopling  the  shadows  we  turn  from  Him 

And  from  one  another ; 
All  is  spectral,  and  vague,  and  dim. 

Save  God  and  our  brother  ! 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier 


WEDNESDAY 

GOD  might  have  made  the  earth  bring  forth 
Enough  for  great  and  small, 
The  oak  tree  and  the  cedar  tree, 
Without  a  flower  at  all. 

He  might  have  made  enough,  enough 

For  every  want  of  ours. 
For  luxury,  medicine,  and  toil, 

And  yet  have  made  no  flowers. 

The  clouds  might  give  abundant  rain, 

The  nightly  dews  might  fall, 
And  the  herb  that  keepeth  life  in  man 

Might  yet  have  drunk  them  all. 

Then  wherefore,  wherefore  were  they  made. 

And  dyed  with  rainbow  light. 
All  fashion'd  with  supremest  grace, 

Upspringing  day  and  night  ? 

Springing  in  valleys  green  and  low. 

And  on  the  mountains  high  ; 
And  in  the  silent  wilderness, 

Where  no  man  passes  by  ? 

Our  outward  life  requires  them  not, 
Then,  wherefore  had  they  birth  ? 


172  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

To  minister  delight  to  man, 
To  beautify  the  earth  : 

To  comfort  man — to  whisper  hope, 

Whene'er  his  faith  is  dim ; 
For  Who  so  careth  for  the  flower 

Will  much  more  care  for  him  ! 

Mary  Howitt 


THURSDAY 

SOURCE  of  my  life  !  to  Thee  my  grateful  soul 
Renews  her  wonted  flight,  and  soars  above. 
Where,    loosen'd    from    earth's    bondage,    care's 
control, 
She  drinks   the  springs  of  speechless  joy  and 
love ! 

How  full  the  draught !     Upborne  on  faith's  strong 
wings. 
She  mounts,  nor  heeds  th'  encumbering  load  of 
clay, 
Ascending  far  above  earth's  loftiest  things. 
Catching  the  light  of  Heaven's  unclouded  day. 

Fountain  of  light  to  that  all  blissful  sphere  ! 

Thy  beams  dispel  the  darkness  of  my  heart 
At  this  far  distance :  who  shall  then  declare 

What  they  receive  who  see  Thee  as  Thou  art ! 

O  God,  our  Saviour  !  if  below  Thy  light, 

Caught  by  my  heart,  sin's  darkest  shades  dispel. 

Oh,  then  what  ecstasy  pervades  their  sight. 

Whose  robes  reflect  the  beams  in  which  they 
dwell. 


SECOND  SUNDAY  AFTER  EASTER     173 

Shine,  ever  shine,  more  brightly  constant  shine, 
To  point,  to  comfort,  to  make  safe  our  way ; 

Absent,  we  differ,  murmur,  and  repine. 
Our  fallen  nature's  unresisted  prey  ! 

Gilbert  N.  Smith 


FRIDAY 

O  HEAVEN  !  Sweet  Heaven  !  the  home  of  the 
blest. 
Where  hearts  once  in  trouble  are  ever  at  rest  ; 
Where  eyes  that  could  see  not  rejoice  in  the  light, 
And  beggars  made  princes  are  walking  in  white. 

O  Heaven  !  Sweet  Heaven  !  the  mansion  of  love. 
Where  Christ   in  His   beauty  shines   forth   from 

above. 
The  Lamb  with  His  sceptre,  to  charm  and  control, 
And  love  is  the  sea  that  encircles  the  whole. 

O  Heaven  !  Sweet  Heaven  !  where  purity  reigns. 
Where  error  disturbs  not,  and  sin  never  stains ; 
Where  holiness  robes  in  its  garments  so  fair 
The  great  multitude  that  is  worshipping  there. 

O  Heaven !    Sweet  Heaven  !   where  music  ne'er 

dies. 
But  rich  pealing  anthems  of  glory  arise ; 
Where   saints   with    one   feeling   of   rapture   are 

stirred. 
And  loud  hallelujahs  for  ever  are  heard. 

O  Heaven  !  Sweet  Heaven !  where  friends  neve 

part. 
But  cords  of  true  friendship  bind  firmly  the  heart ; 


174  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Where  farewell  shall  never  more  fall  on  the  ear, 
Nor  eyes  that  have  sorrowed  be  dimmed  with  a 
tear. 

Edwin  H.  Nevin 


SATURDAY 

NOTHING  resting  in  its  own  completeness 
Can  have  worth  or  beauty :  but  alone 
Because  it  leads  and  tends  to  farther  sweetness, 
Fuller,  higher,  deeper  than  its  own. 

Spring's  real  glory  dwells  not  in  the  meaning. 
Gracious  though  it  be,  of  her  blue  hours ; 
But  is  hidden  in  her  tender  leaning 
To  the  summer's  richer  wealth  of  flowers. 

Dawn  is  fair  because  the  mists  fade  slowly 
Into  day,  which  floods  the  world  with  light ; 
Twilight's  mystery  is  so  sweet  and  holy, 
Just  because  it  ends  in  starry  night. 

Childhood's  smiles  unconscious  graces  borrow 
From  strife,  that  in  a  far-ofi"  future  lies ; 
And  Angel  glances  (veiled  now  by  life's  sorrow) 
Draw  our  hearts  to  some  beloved  eyes. 

Life  is  only  bright  when  it  proceedeth 
Towards  a  truer,  deeper  life  above ; 
Human  love  is  sweetest  when  it  leadeth 
To  a  more  divine  and  perfect  love. 

Learn  the  mystery  of  progression  duly, 
Do  not  call  each  glorious  change,  decay  ; 
But  know  we  only  hold  our  treasures  truly 
When  it  seems  as  if  they  passed  away ; 


THIRD  SUNDAY  AFTER  EASTER     175 

Nor  dare  to  blame  God's  gifts  for  incompleteness ; 
In  that  want  their  beauty  lies  :  they  roll 
Towards  some  infinite  depth  of  love  and  sweetness, 
Bearing  onwards  man's  reluctant  soul. 

Adelaide  Anne  Procter 


THE  THIRD  SUNDAY  AFTER  EASTER 

THROUGH  many  a  far  and  foreign  land, 
With  weary  feet,  and  garment  rent, 
And  sandal  laced,  and  staff  in  hand, 
The  home-bound  pilgrim  went ; 

He  passed  by  many  a  garden  fair, 
He  looked  on  many  a  lordly  dome, 
But  ever  whispered,  passing  there, 
"  I  seek  my  Father's  home." 

He  lingered  not  where  thousand  charms 
Wooed  him  from  bank  and  sunny  bower ; 
He  turned  not  back  when  night's  alarms 
Did  all  around  him  lour ; 

Yet  gratefully  he  plucked  some  flowers 
That  blossomed  brightly  at  his  feet, 
He  knew,  to  cheer  his  travel  hours, 
That  God  had  made  them  meet ; 

And  when  sharp  thorns  before  him  lay, 
And  rugged  was  the  narrow  road, 
He  did  not  seek  another  way, 
But  bravely  onward  strode. 


176  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Children,  all  Christians  here  on  earth, 
Where'er  their  weary  footsteps  roam, 
Whate'er  their  place,  or  state,  or  birth. 
Are  pilgrims  going  home. 

The  world  shall  tempt  with  vain  delight. 
Shall  try  them  with  contempt  and  scorn, 
They  must  not  think  her  flowers  too  bright, 
Nor  tremble  at  her  thorn. 

If  doing  right  seem  hard  and  stern. 
They  must  not  shrink  and  turn  away, 
But  take  their  Master's  Cross,  and  learn 
To  bear  it,  day  by  day. 

Thus  praising  God  for  all  things  sweet 
And  bright,  that  He  on  earth  has  given, 
With  watchful  prayer  their  pilgrim  feet 
Must  hasten  on  to  Heaven. 

Cecil  Frances  Alexander 


WEEK  OF  THE  THIRD  SUNDAY 
AFTER  EASTER 

MONDAY 

ALL  flesh  is  grass,  and  all  its  glory  fades 
Like  the  fair  flower  dishevell'd  in  the  wind ; 
Riches  have  wings,  and  grandeur  is  a  dream ; 
The  man  we  celebrate  must  find  a  tomb. 
And  we  that  worship  him,  ignoble  graves. — 
Nothing  is  proof  against  the  general  curse 


THIRD  SUNDAY  AFTER  EASTER     177 

Of  vanity,  that  seizes  all  below. 

The  only  amaranthine  flower  on  earth 

Is  virtue ;  the  only  lasting  treasure,  truth. 

But  what  is  truth  ?     Twas  Pilate's  question  put 

To  Truth  itself,  that  deign'd  him  no  reply. 

And  wherefore  ?  will  not  God  impart  His  light 

To  them  that  ask  it? — Freely — 'tis  His  joy, 

His  glory,  and  His  nature  to  impart. 

But  to  the  proud,  uncandid,  insincere, 

Or  neghgent  inquirer,  not  a  spark. 

What's  that  which  brings  contempt  upon  a  book. 

And  him  who  writes  it,  though  the  style  be  neat, 

The  method  clear,  and  argument  exact  ? 

That  makes  a  minister  in  holy  things 

The  joy  of  many,  and  the  dread  of  more, 

His  name  a  theme  for  praise  and  for  reproach  ? 

That  while  it  gives  us  worth  in  God's  account, 

Depreciates  and  undoes  us  in  our  own  ? 

What  pearl  is  it  that  rich  men  cannot  buy. 

That  learning  is  too  proud  to  gather  up. 

But  which  the  poor,  and  the  despised  of  all 

Seek  and  obtain,  and  often  find  unsought  ? 

Tell  me,  and  I  will  tell  thee,  what  is  truth. 

William  Cowper 


TUESDAY 

OH  for  the  peace  which  flowetfa  as  a  river. 
Making  Hfe's  desert  places  bloom  and  smile  ! 
Oh  for  the  faith  to  grasp  Heaven's  bright  "for  ever," 
Amid  the  shadows  of  earth's  "little  while." 

"  A  little  while,"  for  patient  vigil-keeping, 
To  face  the  stern,  to  wrestle  with  the  strong  ; 

**  A  little  while,"  to  sow  the  seed  with  weeping, 
Then  bind  the  sheaves,  and  sing  the  harvest-song. 

M 


178  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

*'  A  little  while,"  to  wear  the  weeds  of  sadness, 
To  pace  with  weary  step  through  miry  ways  ; 

Then  to  pour  forth  the  fragrant  oil  of  gladness. 
And  clasp  the  girdle  round  the  robe  of  praise. 

"  A  little  while,"  midst  shadow  and  illusion, 
To  strive,  by  faith,  love's  mysteries  to  spell ; 

Then  read  each  dark  enigma's  bright  solution, 
Then  hail  sight's  verdict,  "He  doth  all  things  well." 

"  A  little  while,"  the  earthen  pitcher  taking 
To  wayside  brooks,  from  far-off  fountains  fed ; 

Then  the  cool  lip  its  thirst  for  ever  slaking 
Beside  the  fulness  of  the  Fountain  Head. 

"A  Httle  while,"  to  keep  the  oil  from  failing, 
"  A  little  while,"  faith's  flickering  lamp  to  trim ; 

And    then,    the   Bridegroom's    coming    footsteps 
hailing. 
To  haste  to  meet  Him  with  the  bridal  hymn. 

And  He,  Who  is  Himself  the  Gift  and  Giver, 
The  future  glory  and  the  present  smile. 

With  the  bright  promise  of  the  glad  "  for  ever  " 
Will  light  the  shadows  of  the  "little  while." 

Jane  Crewdson 


WEDNESDAY 

OH,  weak  are  my  best  thoughts  and  poor 
Is  all  that  I  can  say. 
Whether  I  lift  my  voice  in  praise 
Or  kneel  me  down  to  pray : 


THIRD  SUNDAY  AFTER  EASTER     179 

Wherefore  I  thank  Thee,  gracious  Lord, 

Whose  love  provides  for  me 
A  higher  and  more  perfect  way 

Of  drawing  nigh  to  Thee — 
The  way  of  sacrifice — ordained 

When  earth  was  in  its  prime ; 
Used  by  the  hoary  Patriarchs 

All  through  the  olden  time  ; 
To  Israel's  children  in  the  Law 

Of  trembling  Sinai  given ; 
To  us  in  later  days  confirmed 

By  Christ  Himself  from  Heaven. 
O  sweet  ecstatic  thought  !  'tis  mine 

To  offer  as  of  yore 
A  Sacrifice,  and  one  in  power 

Excelling  all  before ; 
For  me  upon  an  Altar  fair 

Is  pleaded,  day  by  day, 
The  Body  and  the  Blood  of  Him 

Whom  Heaven  and  earth  obey : 
And  as  the  scarcely  buoyant  plank, 

Knit  in  the  vessel's  side. 
With  ease  careers  across  the  waves 

O'er  leagues  of  ocean  wide, 
So  too,  though  weak  my  prayer,  O  Lord, 

Though  poor  my  praises  be, 
Yet,  knit  with  this  high  Sacrifice, 

They  win  their  way  to  Thee. 

Edward  Caswall 


THURSDAY 

THE  more  we  live,  more  brief  appear 
Our  life's  succeeding  stages  : 
A  day  to  childhood  seems  a  year. 
And  years  like  passing  ages. 


i8o  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

The  gladsome  current  of  our  youth, 

Ere  passion  yet  disorders, 

Steals  lingering  like  a  river  smooth 

Along  its  grassy  borders. 

But  as  the  care-worn  cheek  grows  wan, 
And  sorrow's  shafts  fly  thicker. 

Ye  Stars,  that  measure  life  to  man, 
Why  seem  your  courses  quicker  ? 

When  joys  have  lost  their  bloom  and  breath, 

And  life  itself  is  vapid, 
Why,  as  we  reach  the  Falls  of  Death, 

Feel  we  its  tide  more  rapid  ? 

It  may  be  strange — yet  who  would  change 
Time's  course  to  slower  speeding, 

When  one  by  one  our  friends  have  gone 
And  left  our  bosoms  bleeding  ? 

Heaven  gives  our  years  of  fading  strength 

Indemnifying  fleetness ; 
And  those  of  youth,  a  seeming  length 

Proportion'd  to  their  sweetness. 

Thomas  Campbeli. 


FRIDAY 

DO  not  cheat  thy  Heart  and  tell  her, 
"  Grief  will  pass  away ; 
Hope  for  fairer  times  in  future 

And  forget  to-day." — 
Tell  her,  if  you  will,  that  sorrow 

Need  not  come  in  vain ; 
Tell  her  that  the  lesson  taught  her 
Far  outweighs  the  pain. 


THIRD  SUNDAY  AFTER  EASTER     i8i 

Cheat  her  not  with  the  old  comfort, 

"  Soon  she  will  forget," — 
Bitter  truth,  alas, — but  matter 

Rather  for  regret ; 
Bid  her  not  "Seek  other  pleasures, 

Turn  to  other  things  :  " — 
Rather  nurse  the  caged  sorrow 

Till  the  captive  sings. 

Rather  bid  her  go  forth  bravely, 

And  the  stranger  greet ; 
Not  as  foe,  with  spear  and  buckler. 

But  as  dear  friends  meet ; 
Bind  her  with  a  strong  clasp,  hold  her 

By  her  dusky  wings — 
Listening  for  the  murmured  blessing 

Sorrow  always  brings. 

Adelaide  Anne  Procter 


SATURDAY 

LOOK  up ;  the  rainy  heavens  withdraw. 
Light  flows  anew  at  ebb  of  day ; 
Look,  and  believe  the  gracious  law, 
That  love  shall  have  the  final  sway. 

The  grass  is  of  a  perfect  green. 

Dappled  with  shades  this  pleasant  hour ; 
The  garden  walk  is  crisp  and  clean ; 

Wind  shakes  the  tears  from  bough  and  flower. 

Its  finest  life  is  in  the  air. 

Its  finest  lustre  in  the  light ; 
And  see  !  the  drifting  clouds  of  care 

Are  touched  with  glory  in  their  flight. 


i82  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

In  such  an  hour  is  understood 

The  sacred  mystery  of  woe  ; 
We  feel  a  life  divinely  good 

Within  us  rise,  around  us  flow  : 

A  spirit  tranquil  as  of  one 

Who  finds  in  happy  languor  rest, 

Sore  wearied  with  his  work  well  done, 
But  through  well-doing  richly  blest : 

A  spirit  as  of  one  who  broods 
Of  sorrows  ceased  but  unforgot ; 

Whose  heart,  like  heaven,  the  rainiest  moods 
Leave  softer,  and  without  a  blot. 

Come,  holy  peace,  when  evening's  flame 
Burns  in  the  west  intensely  still. 

Come,  kindling  salutary  shame 

For  half- won  good,  half- vanquished  ill. 

Thomas  Toke  Lynch 


THE  FOURTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  EASTER 

HE  loved  His  own  unto  the  end," 
And  asked  their  love ; 
He  said,  "  I  call  you  each  My  friend, 
And  not  My  servant ;  and  I  send 

One  from  above. 
Who  shall  reveal  such  grace  and  truth  to  you 
As  in  My  sojourn  here  ye  never  knew." 

"  But  why  depart?  "  they  cry,  "  why  will 
To  leave  us  here  ? 
Thou  sayest  that  Thou  dost  love  us  still : 


(( 


FOURTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  EASTER     183 

Can  it  be  love  if  thus  Thou  fill 

Our  cup  of  fear  ? 
O  Master,  Master,  should'st  Thou  now  depart 
All  sorrow  needs  must  overwhelm  our  heart ! " 

Yet  it  is  love  :  He  said,  "  I  go  ; 

For  could  I  stay, 
Your  earth-bound  thoughts  would  never  know 
Love's  fullest  mysteries,  which  flow 

From  Me  alway ; 
My  human  heart  might  linger  with  you  yet, 
But  now  affections  must  on  Heaven  be  set. 

You  could  not  know  Me  more,  unless 

My  Spirit  came 
And  taught  the  ways  of  righteousness. 
How  sin  and  judgment  to  confess. 

How  learn  to  blame 
All  clinging  to  inferior  things  of  earth, 
Blind  to  the  glory  of  your  heavenly  birth. 

"My  peace  I  leave  with  you,  but  not 

As  this  world  gives  ; 
My  Spirit  comes  to  you,  yet  what 
He  teaches  shows  no  earthly  lot ; 

He  ever  lives. 
The  world  must  learn.     I  hear  the  Father's  call 
Away  from  earth  ! — Awhile  I  leave  you  all. 

"  Arise  !  let  us  go  hence."     He  rose, 
And,  as  He  spake, 
Calmly  He  moved,  as  one  who  knows 
The  coming  onset  of  his  foes. 
The  night  winds  shake 
With  distant  sounds,  as  through  the  olive  grove 
"  Let  us  depart,"  is  echoed  from  above. 

William  Josiah  Irons 


i84  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

WEEK  OF  THE  FOURTH  SUNDAY  AFTER 
EASTER 

MONDAY 

THE  world's  a  floor,  whose  swelling  heaps  retain 
The  mingled  wages  of  the  ploughman's  toil ; 
The  world's  a  heap,  whose  yet  unwinnow'd  grain 

Is  lodged  with  chaff  and  buried  in  her  soil ; 
All  things  are  mix'd,  the  useful  with  the  vain ; 
The  good  with  bad,  the  noble  with  the  vile ; 
The  world's  an  ark,  wherein  things  pure  and 

gross 
Present  their  lossful  gain,  and  gainful  loss 
Where  ev'ry  pound  of  gold  contains  a  pound  of 
dross. 

The  worldly  wisdom  of  the  foolish  man 
Is  like  a  sieve,  that  does  alone  retain 
The  grosser  substance  of  the  worthless  bran  : 

But  thou,  my  soul,  let  thy  brave  thoughts  disdain 
So  coarse  a  purchase  :  O  be  thou  a  fan 

To  purge  the  chaff,  and  keep  the  winnow'd  grain; 
Make  clean  thy  thoughts,  and  dress  thy  mix'd 

desires : 
Thou    art   Heav'n's    tasker ;    and    thy   God 
requires 
The  purest  of  thy  flow'r,  as  well  as  of  thy  fires. 

Let  grace  conduct  thee  to  the  paths  of  peace. 
And  wisdom  bless  the  soul's  unblemish'd  ways ; 

No  matter,  then,  how  short  or  long's  the  lease. 
Whose  date  determines  thy  self-number'd  days : 

No  need  to  care  for  wealth's  or  fame's  increase, 


FOURTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  EASTER     185 

Nor  Mars  his  palm,  nor  high  Apollo's  bays. 
Lord,  if  Thy  gracious  bounty  please  to  fill 
The  floor  of  my  desires,  and  teach  me  skill 
To  dress  and  choose  the  corn,  take  those  the  chaif 
that  will. 

Francis  Quarles 


TUESDAY 

MERCY  and  Truth  my  song  would  be  ; 
To  Thee,  O  Lord,  I  pour  my  lay; 
Mine  be  the  wise  true  heart,  to  see 
The  sure  and  perfect  way. 

When  wilt  Thou  come  where  I  abide  ? 

Lo !  in  my  house  with  perfect  heart 
I  walk ;  nor  have  I  wistful  ey'd 
The  worthless,  evil  part. 

I  hate  their  work,  who  swerve  to  ill ; 

No  spot  of  theirs  on  me  be  thrown  ! 
Avaunt,  I  say,  thou  froward  will, 
No  sinner  I  will  own. 

Who  on  his  neighbour's  name  aside 

Breathes  slander,  him  I  silence  quite ; 
The  haughty  eye,  the  heart  of  pride, 
I  bear  not  in  my  sight. 

Mine  eyes  the  loyal  of  my  land 

Have  mark'd,  with  me  to  dwell  in  love ; 
Who  walks  entire  on  either  hand, 
My  servant  he  shall  prove. 


1 86  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

No  fraud  shall  lurk  beneath  my  roof, 

No  false  one  find  a  home  with  me, 
The  lying  tongue  must  keep  aloof. 
Nor  rest  where  I  may  see. 

No  miscreant  in  the  land,  but  I 

Will  root  him  out  ere  morning  prime, 
Till  from  Thy  city,  Lord  Most  High, 
I  tear  the  brood  of  crime. 

John  Keble 

WEDNESDAY 

O  HALLOWED  memories  of  the  past. 
Ye  legends  old  and  fair, 
Still  be  your  light  upon  us  cast, 
Your  music  on  the  air, 

In  vain  shall  men  deny, 
Or  bid  your  mission  cease. 
While  stars  yet  prophesy 
Of  love,  and  hope,  and  peace. 

For  hearts  the  beautiful  that  feel, 
Whose  pulse  of  love  beats  strong. 
The  opening  heavens  new  light  reveal, 
Glory  to  God,  their  song. 

While  bursts  confession  forth. 
That,  since  the  world  began. 
No  miracle  on  earth 
E'er  match'd  the  heart  of  man. 

And  while  from  out  our  dying  dust 
Light  more  than  life  doth  stream. 
We  bless  the  faith  that  bids  us  trust 
The  Heaven  that  we  dream. 


FOURTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  EASTER     187 

In  death  there  is  no  fear, 
There's  radiance  through  the  gloom, 
While  love  and  hope  are  here, 
The  Angels  of  the  tomb. 

Then,  hallowed  memories  of  the  past, 
Or  legends  old  and  fair, 
Still  be  your  light  upon  us  cast. 
Your  music  on  the  air, 

In  vain  shall  man  deny, 
Or  bid  your  mission  cease  ; 
The  stars  yet  prophesy 
Of  love,  and  hope,  and  peace. 

Sarah  F.  Adams 


THURSDAY 

TIRED  "  !— Well,  what  of  that  ? 
Didst  fancy  life  was  spent  on  beds  of  ease, 
Fluttering  the  rose-leaves  scattered  by  the  breeze  ? 
Come,  rouse  thee !  work  while  it  is  called  to-day ; 
Coward,  arise  !  go  forth  upon  thy  way  ! 

"  Lonely  "  !— And  what  of  that  ? 
Some  must  be  lonely  !  'tis  not  given  to  all 
To  feel  a  heart  responsive  rise  and  fall. 
To  blend  another's  life  into  our  own  ; — 
Work  may  be  done  in  loneliness.     Work  on  ! 

"  Dark  "  !— Well,  what  of  that  ? 
Didst  fondly  dream  the  sun  would  never  set  ? 
Dost  fear  to  lose  thy  way  ?     Take  courage  yet  ! 
Learn  thou  to  walk  by  faith,  and  not  by  sight, — 
Thy  steps  will  guided  be,  and  guided  right. 


1 88  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

"  Hard  "  !— Well,  what  of  that  ? 
Didst  fancy  life  a  summer  holiday, 
With  lessons  none  to  learn,  and  naught  but  play  ? 
Go,  get  thee  to  thy  task  !     Conquer  or  die  ! 
It  must  be  learned.     Learn  it  then,  patiently. 

"  No  help  "  !— Nay,  'tis  not  so  ! 
Though  human  help  be  far,  thy  God  is  nigh  ; 
Who  feeds  the  ravens,  hears  His  children's  cry. 
He's  near  thee  wheresoe'er  thy  footsteps  roam. 
And  He  will  guide  thee,  light  thee,  help  thee  home. 


FRIDAY 

ALL  round  the  rolling  world,  both  night  and  day, 
A  ceaseless  voice  ascends  from  those  who 
pray: 
"  Thy  will  be  done  on  earth,  as  now  in  Heaven ; 
Unto  our  souls  a  perfect  choice  be  given." 

All  round  the  rolling  world,  both  night  and  day, 
A  ceaseless  answer  comes  to  those  who  pray ; 
By  shattered  hopes,  crossed  plans,  and  fruitless 

pains, 
Thy  heavenly  Master  thine  allegiance  trains. 

Guessing  some  portion  of  His  great  design. 
Thou  seek'st  to  forward  it  by  ways  of  thine ; 
He  Who  the  whole  disposes  as  is  meet, 
Sees  a  necessity  for  thy  defeat. 

Yet  to  the  faithful  there  is  no  such  thing 
As  disappointment ;  failures  only  bring 
A  gentle  pang,  as  peacefully  they  say, 
"His  purpose   stands,   though  mine  has   passed 
away." 


FOURTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  EASTER     189 

All  is  fulfilling,  all  is  working  still, 

To  teach  thee  flexibility  of  will ; 

To  great  achievements  let  thy  wishes  soar, 

Yet  meek  submission  pleases  Christ  still  more. 

When  Love's  long  discipline  is  overpast, 
Thy  will  too  shall  be  done  with  His  at  last. 
When  all  is  perfected,  and  thou  dost  stand. 
Robed,  crowned,  and  glorified  at  His  right  hand. 

C.  M.  Noel 


SATURDAY 

WHEN  is  Communion  nearest? 
When  blended  anthems  dearest? 
Is  it  where  far  away  dim  aisles  prolong 
The  cadence  of  the  choral  song  ? 

Whose  notes  like  waves  in  ocean. 

When  all  are  heard,  yet  none, 
With  ever  upward  surging  motion 

Approach  the  Eternal  Throne? 

Notes  that  would  of  madness  tell, 
So  keen  they  pierce,  so  high  they  swell ; 

But  for  Heaven's  harmonious  spell ; 
Keen  to  the  listening  ear,  as  to  the  sight 

The  purest  wintry  star's  intolerable  light. 
Yet  mild  as  evening  gleams  just  melting  into  night. 

Or  rather  where  soft  soaring 
One  silent  heart  adoring 
Loves  o'er  the  stillness  of  the  sick  man's  room 
To  breathe  intensest  prayer's  perfume. 

Whether  calm  rest  be  sealing 

The  pained  and  wearied  eyes. 

Or  in  high  blended  feeling 

Watcher  and  sufferer  rise. 


I90  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Sweet  the  sleep,  the  waking  dear, 
When  the  holy  Church  is  near 
With  mother's  arms  to  hush  and  cheer. 

Seems  it  not  then  as  though  each  prayer  and 

psalm, 
Came  like  one   message  more    from    that   far 

world  of  calm, 
And    earnest   of    His    love,    Whose    Blood   is 
healing  balm  ? 

John  Keble 


THE  FIFTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  EASTER 

WHEN  prayer  delights  thee  least,  then  learn 
to  say. 
Soul,    now  is   greatest   need  that  thou  should'st 
pray. 

Crooked  and  warped  I  am,  and  I  would  fain 
Straighten  myself  by  thy  right  line  again. 

O  come,  warm  sun,  and  ripen  my  late  fruits  ; 
Pierce,  genial  showers,  down  to  my  parched  roots. 

My  well  is  bitter,  cast  therein  the  tree, 

That  sweet  henceforth  its  brackish  waves  may  be. 

Say  what  is  prayer,  when  it  is  prayer  indeed  ? 
The  mighty  utterance  of  a  mighty  need. 

The  man  is  praying,  who  doth  press  with  might 
Out  of  his  darkness  into  God's  own  light. 

While  heat  the  iron  in  the  furnace  won, 
Withdrawn  from  thence,  'twas  cold  and  hard  anon 


ROGATION  MONDAY  191 

Flowers  from  their  stalks  divided,  presently 
Droop,  fail,  and  wither  in  the  gazer's  eye. 

The  greenest  leaf  divided  from  its  stem, 
To  speedy  withering  doth  itself  condemn. 

The  largest  river  from  its  fountain  head 

Cut  off,  leaves  soon  a  parched  and  dusty  bed. 

All  things  that   live  from  God  their   sustenance 

wait, 
And  sun  and  moon  are  beggars  at  His  gate. 

All  skirts  extended  of  thy  mantle  hold, 
When  Angel-hands   from    Heaven  are  scattering 
gold. 

Richard  Chenevix  Trench 


ROGATION  MONDAY 

MOTHER  !  with  us  the  Lord  doth  bide  ; 
Yet  but  a  little  while  He  stays,— 
Then  for  three  dim  and  lonely  days 
Why  keep  us  from  His  side? 

When  thou  wert  in  thy  virgin  prime, 
Those  forty  days  through  all  the  earth 
Thy  heart  did  swell  with  festal  mirth — 
It  was  thy  bridal  time. 

"  Talk  not,  my  son,  of  early  days  : 
My  precious  stones  were  passing  fair, 
My  life  was  Sacrament  and  prayer, 
My  unity  was  praise. 


192  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

"  These  glories  now  are  well-nigh  past : 
My  son  !  the  world  is  waxing  strong  ; 
The  day  is  hot ;  the  fight  is  long, 
And  therefore  do  I  fast. 

"  And  ye  are  weak,  and  cannot  bear 
Full  forty  days  of  Easter  mirth  : 
And  nought  is  left  unstained  of  earth, 
But  penance,  fast,  and  prayer. 

"  Oh  !  weary  is  my  stay  below  ; 
And  thus  with  strong  and  earnest  cry, 
As  each  Ascension-day  glides  by, 
I  fain  with  Him  would  go. 

"  Then  watch  and  fast,  like  saints  of  yore  ; 
These  three  new  days  perchance  may  bring 
The  earlier  Advent  of  our  King, 
And  we  shall  fast  no  more  !  " 

Frederick  William  Faber 


ROGATION  TUESDAY 

UNANSWERED  yet,  the  prayer  your  lips  have 
pleaded, 
In  agony  of  heart  these  many  years  ? 
Does  faith  begin  to  fail  ?     Is  hope  departing. 

And  think  you  all  in  vain  those  falling  tears  ? 
Say  not  the  Father  hath  not  heard  your  prayer ; 
You  shall  have  your  desire  sometime,  somewhere. 

Unanswered  yet,  though  when  you  first  presented 
This  one  petition  at  the  Father's  Throne, 


ASCENSION  EVE  193 

It  seemed  you  could  not  wait  the  time  of  asking, 

So  urgent  was  your  heart  to  have  it  known  ? 
Though   years   have   passed   since   then,  do   not 

despair ; 
The  Lord  will  answer  you  sometime,  somewhere. 

Unanswered  yet  ?     Nay,  do  not  say  ungranted ; 

Perhaps  your  part  is  not  yet  wholly  done ; 
The  work  began  when  first  your  prayer  was  uttered, 

And  God  will  finish  what  He  has  begun. 
If  you  will  keep  the  incense  burning  there, 
His  glory  you  will  see  sometime,  somewhere. 

Unanswered  yet  ?     Faith  cannot  be  unanswered, 
Her  feet  are  firmly  planted  on  the  rock ; 

Amid  the  wildest  storms  she  stands  undaunted. 
Nor  quails  before  the  loudest  thunder  shock. 

She  knows  Omnipotence  has  heard  her  prayer, 

And  cries,  It  shall  be  done — sometime,  somewhere. 


ASCENSION  EVE 

BREEZES  of  spring,  all  earth  to  life  awaking, — 
Birds  swiftly  soaring  through  the  sunny  sky, — 
The  butterfly  its  lonely  prison  breaking, — 

The   seed  upspringing,  which   had   seemed   to 
die, — 

Types  such  as  these  a  word  of  hope  have  spoken, 
Have  shed  a  gleam  of  light  around  the  tomb ; 

But  weary  hearts  longed  for  a  surer  token, 
A  clearer  ray,  to  dissipate  its  gloom. 


194  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

And  this  was  granted  !     See  the  Lord  ascending, 
On  crimson  clouds  of  evening  calmly  borne, 

With  hands  outstretched,  and  looks  of  love   still 
bending 
On  His  bereaved  ones,  who  no  longer  mourn. 

"  I  am  the  Resurrection,"  hear  Him  saying ; 

"  I  am  the  Life ;  He  who  believes  in  Me 
Shall  never  die, — the  souls  My  call  obeying, 

Soon,  where  I  am,  for  evermore  shall  be." 

Sing  Hallelujah !  light  from  Heaven  appearing, 
The  mystery  of  life  and  death  is  plain  ; 

Now  to  the  grave  we  can  descend  unfearing. 
In  sure  and  certain  hope  to  rise  again  ! 

Jane  Borthwick 


ASCENSION  DAY 

OSHOW  me  not  my  Saviour  dying, 
As  on  the  Cross  He  bled ; 
Nor  in  the  tomb,  a  captive  lying, 

For  He  has  left  the  dead : 
Then  bid  me  not  that  form  extended 

For  my  Redeemer  own, 
Who,  to  the  highest  heavens  ascended, 
In  glory  fills  the  Throne. 

Weep  not  for  Him  at  Calvary's  station  ; 

Weep  only  for  thy  sins. 
View  where  He  lay  with  exultation, — 

'Tis  there  our  hope  begins : 


FRIDAY  AFTER  ASCENSION  DAY     195 

Yet  stay  not  there,  thy  sorrows  feeding, 

Amid  the  scenes  He  trod ; 
Look  up,  and  see  Him  interceding 

At  the  right  hand  of  God. 

Still  in  the  shameful  Cross  I  glory, 

Where  His  dear  blood  was  spilt ; 
For  there  the  great  Propitiatory 

Abolished  all  my  guilt. 
Yet  what,  'mid  conflict  and  temptation, 

Shall  strength  and  succour  give  ? 
He  lives,  the  Captain  of  Salvation  ; 

Therefore  His  servants  live. 

By  death,  He  death's  dark  king  defeated. 

And  overcame  the  grave  ; 
Rising,  the  triumph  He  completed; 

He  lives.  He  reigns  to  save. 
Heaven's  happy  myriads  bow  before  Him ; 

He  comes,  the  Judge  of  men ; 
These  eyes  shall  see  Him,  and  adore  Him  : 

Lord  Jesus,  own  me  then. 

JOSIAH  CONDER 


FRIDAY  AFTER  ASCENSION  DAY 

• 

HE  is  gone — we  heard  Him  say, 
"  Good  that  I  should  go  away  "  : 
Gone  is  that  dear  form  and  face, 
But  not  gone  His  present  grace ; 
Though  Himself  no  more  we  see. 
Comfortless  we  cannot  be — 
No  !     His  Spirit  still  is  ours, 
Quickening,  freshening  all  our  powers. 


196  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

He  is  gone — towards  their  goal, 
World  and  Church  must  onward  roll ; 
Far  behind  we  leave  the  past ; 
Forward  are  our  glances  cast : 
Still  His  words  before  us  range 
Through  the  ages,  as  they  change  : 
Wheresoe'er  the  truth  shall  lead, 
He  will  give  whate'er  we  need. 

He  is  gone — but  we  once  more 
Shall  behold  Him  as  before, 
In  the  Heaven  of  heavens  the  same 
As  on  earth  He  went  and  came. 
In  the  many  mansions  there, 
Place  for  us  He  will  prepare : 
In  that  world,  unseen,  unknown. 
He  and  we  may  yet  be  one. 

He  is  gone — but,  not  in  vain, 
Wait  until  He  comes  again  : 
He  is  risen,  He  is  not  here ; 
Far  above  this  earthly  sphere  : 
Evermore  in  heart  and  mind. 
Where  our  peace  in  Him  we  find, 
To  our  own  Eternal  Friend, 
Thitherward  let  us  ascend. 

Arthur  Penrhyn  Stanley 


SATURDAY  AFTER  ASCENSION  DAY 

KING  of  kings,  and  wilt  Thou  deign 
O'er  this  wayward  heart  to  reign  ? 
Henceforth  take  it  for  Thy  throne, 
Rule  here.  Lord,  and  rule  alone. 


SUNDAY  AFTER  ASCENSION  DAY     197 

Then,  like  Heaven's  angelic  bands, 
Waiting  for  Thine  high  commands, 
All  my  powers  shall  wait  on  Thee, 
Captive,  yet  divinely  free. 

At  Thy  Word  my  will  shall  bow, 
Judgment,  reason,  bending  low ; 
Hope,  desire,  and  every  thought. 
Into  glad  obedience  brought. 

Zeal  shall  haste  on  eager  wing, 
Hourly  some  new  gift  to  bring ; 
Wisdom,  humbly  casting  down 
At  Thy  feet  her  golden  crown. 

Tuned  by  Thee  in  sweet  accord, 
All  shall  sing  their  gracious  Lord  ; 
Love,  the  Leader  of  the  choir. 
Breathing  round  her  seraph  fire. 

Be  it  so  :  my  heart's  Thy  throne. 
All  my  powers  Thy  sceptre  own. 
And,  with  them  on  Thine  own  hill. 
Live  rejoicing  in  Thy  will. 

W.  A.  Muhlenberg 


THE  SUNDAY  AFTER  ASCENSION  DAY 

"  T    OOK,  Master !     See  yon  chariot  all  on  fire 
-L'     And    spirit    horses    breathing    flame    and 
dread : 

Ah,  woe  is  me  !     Angelic  powers  conspire 
To  snatch  thee  in  a  moment  from  my  head ! 

O  grant  me,  Lord,  responsive  to  my  vow, 

A  double  portion  of  Thy  Spirit  now  ! 


198  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

"  And  must  I,  then,  deserted  and  alone, 
Whose  help  was  found  in  thee  (Elisha  cried). 

Take  up  thy  strenuous  war  with  Israel's  Throne, 
That  scorns  Jehovah  in  its  boastful  pride  ? 

O  grant  7ne,  Lord^  responsive  to  my  vow^ 

A  double  portion  of  Thy  Spirit  Jioiv  !  " 

So  too  the  Eleven,  when  they  gazed  on  high, 
Felt,  like  the  Prophet,  separation's  throe : 

The  cloud,  that  hid  the  Saviour  in  the  sky, 

Chilled  with  its  gloom  their  loving  hearts  below  ! 

Ah  I  grant  them,  Lord,  responsive  to  their  vow, 

A  double  portion  of  Thy  Spirit  now  ! 

Earth's  princes  and  the  people  of  the  Jews 
Hurling  their  threats  add  terror  to  their  loss, 

And  will  the  flock  of  orphaned  tremblers  choose 
To  champion  in  the  world  the  painful  Cross  ? 

Oh,  grant  them.  Lord,  responsive  to  their  vow, 

A  double  portion  of  Thy  Spirit  now  I 

Nor  less  to-day  the  Church  prolongs  the  theme, 
Scanning  with  patience  the  celestial  door ; 

Human  in  every  part,  can  she  redeem 

The  whole  wide  world  from  shore  to  distant 
shore  ? 

Oh,  grant  her.  Lord,  responsive  to  her  vozv, 

A  double  portion  of  Thy  Spirit  now  ! 

And  I,  too,  watching  fondly  in  my  sphere. 
Till  once  again  the  closed  Heavens  are  rife 

With  signs  of  Thy  return,  am  oft  in  fear 
Lest  I  betray  the  purpose  of  my  life ! 

Oh,  grant  me,  Lord,  responsive  to  my  vow, 

A  double  portion  of  Thy  Spirit  ?iow  ! 

G.  T.  S.  Farquhar 


SUNDAY  AFTER  ASCENSION  DAY     199 

WEEK  OF  THE  SUNDAY  AFTER 
ASCENSION  DAY 

MONDAY 

THOU  bidd'st  us  "  visit  in  distress 
The  widow  and  the  fatherless  " ; 
And  wilt  Thou  leave  us  comfortless  ? 
Wilt  Thou  depart  ? 

Wilt  Thou,  O  Lord,  Thy  Church  forsake  ? 
Must  she  a  widow's  garments  take? 
Wilt  Thou  Thy  children  orphans  make? 
O  grief  of  heart ! 

No  :  Christ  will  visit  in  distress 
The  widow  and  the  fatherless ; 
Seeming  to  leave  you  comfortless, 
He  loves  you  most. 

For  He  departs,  that  He  may  send 
Another  Comforter  and  Friend, 
To  tarry  with  you  till  the  end ; 
The  Holy  Ghost. 

At  Thy  first  birth.  Thou,  Lord,  didst  wait, 
And  forty  days  from  it  didst  date, 
And  then  Thy  Zion's  temple  gate 
Did  welcome  Thee. 

Old  age  with  joy  saw  Thee  appear. 
And  widowhood  found  comfort  there ; 
Perhaps  the  doves,  then  offered,  were 
A  prophecy. 


20O  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

And  now  the  fortieth  from  Thy  birth, 
To  endless  h*fe,  from  womb  of  earth, 
Will  be  a  day  of  joy  and  mirth 
In  realms  above. 

For  though  Thy  earthly  course  will  end, 
To  Zion's  gates  Thou  wilt  ascend, 
To  be  our  great  High  Priest,  and  send 
The  Heavenly  Dove. 

Why  then  this  sorrow  and  dismay  ? 
'Tis  good  that  He  should  go  away, 
He  goes,  that  He  for  you  may  pray. 
And  never  cease ; 

He  goes  as  Man,  that  you  may  see 
By  faith  His  present  Deity ; 
That  here  the  Comforter  may  be, 
And  give  you  peace  ! 

Christopher  Wordsworth 


TUESDAY 

'^■pHE  Lord  is  King !  lift  up  thy  voice, 
1      O  earth,  and  all  ye  Heavens  rejoice ! 
From  world  to  world  the  joy  shall  ring : 
The  Lord  Omnipotent  is  King. 

The  Lord  is  King !  who  then  shall  dare 
Resist  His  will,  distrust  His  care, 
Or  murmur  at  His  wise  decrees. 
Or  doubt  His  royal  promises? 

The  Lord  is  King !     Child  of  the  dust, 
The  Judge  of  all  the  earth  is  just : 


SUNDAY  AFTER  ASCENSION  DAY     201 

Holy  and  true  are  all  His  ways ; 
Let  every  creature  speak  His  praise. 

He  reigns  !     Ye  saints,  exalt  your  strains ; 
Your  God  is  King,  your  Father  reigns ; 
And  He  is  at  the  Father's  side, 
The  Man  of  Love,  the  Crucified. 

Come,  make  your  wants,  your  burdens  known, 
He  will  present  them  at  the  Throne ; 
And  Angel-bands  are  waiting  there, 
His  messages  of  love  to  bear. 

Alike  pervaded  by  His  eye, 
All  parts  of  His  dominion  lie ; 
This  world  of  ours  and  worlds  unseen. 
And  thin  the  boundary  between. 

One  Lord,  one  empire,  all  secures : 
He  reigns, — and  life  and  death  are  yours. 
Through  earth  and  Heaven  one  song  shall  ring, 
The  Lord  Omnipotent  is  King. 

JOSIAH  CONDER 


WEDNESDAY 


H 


IS  eye  toward  the  promised  land, 

Submiss  and  gentle,  see  him  stand. 
Bent  o'er  his  gifted  rod  : 


Meek  amid  such  magnificence 
Of  certain  power,  his  heart  intense 
With  faith,  and  love,  and  reverence, 
He  worshipped  the  true  God. 


202  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

That  God  had  known  him  face  to  face, 
Had  showered  upon  his  spirit,  grace. 
Upon  his  features,  light : 

By  him,  the  Lord  of  hosts  had  wrought 
His  signs  and  wonders,  while  He  brought 
His  people  home  ;  by  Moses,  taught 
His  covenant.  His  might. 

Hard  by  flowed  Jordan  ;  Moses  heard 
In  meekness,  and  obeyed  God's  word, 
His  thrilling  chant  rung  high  : 

And  forth  the  camp,  calm  and  content, 
His  eye  not  dim,  his  strength  not  spent, 
From  Moab's  plain  the  prophet  went 
Up  Nebo's  steep  to  die. 

No  mortal  ear  drank  his  last  breath 
No  mortal  eye  beheld  his  death ; 
He  died  on  Abarim  : 

His  grave,  no  mortal  mourners  tend  : 
His  God  was  with  him,  as  his  friend. 
Was  comforting  his  latter  end. 
Now,  ever  blesses  him. 


THURSDAY 

WHAT  a  world  with  all  its  sorrows ! 
What  a  scene,  would  it  but  stay  ; 
What  an  earth,  if  all  its  morrows 
Were  as  fair  as  this  "  to-day  "  ! 

When  earth's  summer-pulse  is  beating 
With  the  fever-fire  of  June, 


SUNDAY  AFTER  ASCENSION  DAY     203 

And  the  flowers  fling  up  their  greeting, 
Quivering  to  the  joyous  noon  : 

When  the  streamlet,  smihng  gladly, 

Hurries  calmly,  brightly  by. 
Not  a  voice  around  speaks  sadly, 

Not  a  murmur  nor  a  sigh. 

Sunbeams,  with  their  fond  caresses. 
Smooth  each  rosebud's  velvet  fold. 

Lingering  in  the  glowing  tresses 
Of  yon  rich  laburnum's  gold. 

Nature  all  its  gay  adorning 

Opens  to  the  day's  bright  bliss. 

Like  a  child  at  early  morning. 
Wakened  by  its  mother's  kiss. 

What  a  world  !  when  all  its  sorrow 

Shall  for  ever  pass  away  ! 
What  an  earth  !  when  each  "to-morrow" 

Shall  be  fairer  than  "to-day." 

HORATIUS    BONAR 


FRIDAY 

IT  is  not  Heaven  alone, 
Which  godliness  attains  ; 
It  makes  as  much  its  own 
The  best  of  worldly  gains  : 
Since  out  of  all  on  earth  it  draws 
The  ore  which  of  its  worth  is  cause. 

From  godliness  there  flows 
A  current  of  content : 


204  CHURCHMAN'STREASURY  OF  SONG 

And  ill  to  blessing  grows, 

By  thought  of  blessing  meant : 
Each  lot  as  sent  by  God  it  holds ; 
And  each  a  bounty  straight  unfolds. 

It  keeps  the  mind  from  wrong, 

And  so  of  peace  secure ; 
It  keeps  the  body  strong, 
Because  it  keeps  it  pure  : 
And  hath  enough,  on  which  to  wait 
The  heirship  of  a  large  estate. 

And  thus  a  double  bliss 
To  godliness  pertains : 
The  world  which  present  is. 
And  that  to  come  it  gains  : 
The  earthly  good  is  Heaven's  begun  ; 
The  promise  rolls  the  two  in  one. 

Lord  Kinloch 


WHITSUN  EVE 

COME,  Holy  Spirit,  from  above, 
And  from  the  realms  of  light  and  love 
Thine  own  bright  rays  impart. 
Come,  Father  of  the  fatherless, 
Come,  Giver  of  all  happiness, 
Come,  Lamp  of  every  heart. 

O  Thou,  of  comforters  the  best, 

O  Thou,  the  soul's  most  welcome  guest, 

O  Thou,  our  sweet  repose. 
Our  resting-place  from  life's  long  care, 
Our  shadow  from  the  world's  fierce  glare. 

Our  solace  in  all  woes. 


WHITSUN  DAY  205 

O  Light  Divine,  all  light  excelling, 
Fill  with  Thyself  the  inmost  dwelling 

Of  souls  sincere  and  lowly ; 
Without  Thy  pure  Divinity, 
Nothing  in  all  humanity. 

Nothing  is  strong  or  holy. 

Wash  out  each  dark  and  sordid  stain, 
Water  each  dry  and  arid  plain, 

Raise  up  the  bruised  reed, 
Enkindle  what  is  cold  and  chill, 
Relax  the  stiff  and  stubborn  will, 

Guide  those  that  guidance  need. 

Give  to  the  good  who  find  in  Thee 
The  Spirit's  perfect  liberty. 

Thy  sevenfold  power  and  love. 
Give  virtue  strength  its  crown  to  win, 
Give  struggling  souls  their  rest  from  sin. 

Give  endless  peace  above. 

Arthur  Penrhyn  Stanley 


WHITSUN  DAY 

CREATOR  Spirit,  by  Whose  aid 
The  world's  foundations  first  were  laid, 
Come  visit  every  pious  mind  ; 
Come  pour  Thy  joys  on  human  kind, 
From  sin  and  sorrow  set  us  free 
And  make  Thy  temples  worthy  Thee. 

O  source  of  uncreated  light, 
Thy  Father's  promis'd  Paraclete  ! 
Thrice  holy  fount,  thrice  holy  fire. 
Our  hearts  with  heavenly  love  inspire, 


2o6  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Come,  and  Thy  sacred  unction  bring 
To  sanctify  us  while  we  sing. 

Plenteous  of  grace,  descend  from  high 
Rich  in  Thy  sevenfold  energy  ! 
Thou  strength  of  His  Almighty  hand 
Whose  power  does  Heaven  and  earth  command, 
Proceeding  Spirit,  our  defence, 
Who  dost  the  gift  of  tongues  dispense, 
And  crown'st  Thy  gifts  with  eloquence  ! 

Refine  and  purge  our  earthly  parts  ; 
But,  oh,  inflame  and  fire  our  hearts  ! 
Our  frailties  help,  our  vice  control. 
Submit  the  senses  to  the  soul : 
And  when  rebellious  they  are  grown, 
Then  lay  Thy  hand  and  hold  them  down. 
Chase  from  our  minds  the  infernal  foe, 
And  peace,  the  fruit  of  love,  bestow. 
And  lest  our  feet  should  step  astray, 
Protect  and  guide  us  in  the  way. 

Make  us  eternal  truths  receive, 
And  practise  all  that  we  believe. 
Give  us  Thyself,  that  we  may  see 
The  Father  and  the  Son  by  Thee. 

Immortal  honour,  endless  fame. 
Attend  the  Almighty  Father's  name. 
The  Saviour  Son  be  glorified 
Who  for  lost  man's  redemption  died ; 
And  equal  adoration  be. 
Eternal  Paraclete,  to  Thee. 

John  Dryden 


MONDAY  IN  WHITSUN  WEEK     207 


MONDAY  IN  WHITSUN  WEEK 

GRACIOUS  Spirit,  dwell  with  me  ; 
I  myself  would  gracious  be, 
And  with  words  that  help  and  heal 
Would  Thy  life  in  mine  reveal, 
And  with  actions  bold  and  meek 
Would  for  Christ  my  Saviour  speak. 

Truthful  Spirit,  dwell  with  me ; 
I  myself  would  truthful  be. 
And  with  wisdom  kind  and  clear 
Let  Thy  life  in  mine  appear, 
And  with  actions  brotherly 
Speak  my  Lord's  sincerity. 

Silent  Spirit,  dwell  with  me  ; 

I  myself  would  quiet  be, 

Quiet  as  the  growing  blade 

Which  through  earth  its  way  has  made, 

Silently,  like  morning  light. 

Putting  mists  and  chills  to  flight. 

Mighty  Spirit,  dwell  with  me ; 
I  myself  would  mighty  be. 
Mighty  so  as  to  prevail 
Where  unaided  man  must  fail, 
Ever  by  a  mighty  hope 
Pressing  on  and  bearing  up. 

Holy  Spirit,  dwell  with  me ; 
I  myself  would  holy  be ; 
Separate  from  sin,  I  would 


2o8  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Choose  and  cherish  all  things  good, 

And  whatever  I  can  be 

Give  to  Him,  Who  gave  me  Thee  ! 

Thomas  Toke  Lynch 


TUESDAY  IN  WHITSUN  WEEK 

HOLY  Spirit,  Truth  Divine  ! 
Dawn  upon  this  soul  of  mine ; 
Word  of  God,  and  Inward  Light ! 
Wake  my  spirit,  clear  my  sight. 

Holy  Spirit,  Love  Divine  ! 
Glow  within  this  heart  of  mine  ; 
Kindle  every  high  desire ; 
Perish  self  in  Thy  pure  fire  ! 

Holy  Spirit,  Power  Divine ! 
Fill  and  nerve  this  will  of  mine ; 
By  the  way  I  strongly  live 
Bravely  bear  and  nobly  strive. 

Holy  Spirit,  Right  Divine  ! 
King  within  my  conscience  reign  ; 
Be  my  Lord,  and  I  shall  be 
Firmly  bound,  for  ever  free. 

Holy  Spirit,  Peace  Divine  ! 
Still  this  restless  heart  of  mine  ; 
Speak  to  calm  this  tossing  sea 
Stayed  in  Thy  tranquillity. 

Holy  Spirit,  Joy  Divine  ! 
Gladden  Thou  this  heart  of  mine  ; 


WEDNESDAY  IN  WHITSUN  WEEK     209 

In  the  desert  ways  I  sing 

"  Spring,  O  Well !  for  ever  spring." 

S.  Longfellow 


WEDNESDAY  IN  WHITSUN  WEEK 

SHALL  I,  for  fear  of  feeble  man, 
Thy  Spirit's  course  in  me  restrain  ? 
Or  undismay'd  in  deed  and  word, 
Be  a  true  witness  to  my  Lord  ? 

Awed  by  a  mortal's  frown,  shall  I 
Conceal  the  Word  of  God  most  high  ? 
How  then  before  Thee  shall  I  dare 
To  stand,  or  how  Thy  anger  bear  ? 

No  ]  let  man  rage  !  since  Thou  wilt  spread 
Thy  shadowing  wings  around  my  head  : 
Since  in  all  pain  Thy  tender  love 
Will  still  my  sweet  refreshment  prove. 

Saviour  of  men  !  Thy  searching  eye 
Does  all  my  inmost  thoughts  descry  : 
Doth  aught  on  earth  my  wishes  raise  ? 
Or  the  world's  favour,  or  its  praise  ? 

The  love  of  Christ  does  me  constrain. 
To  seek  the  wandering  souls  of  men  : 
With  cries,  entreaties,  tears  to  save, 
To  snatch  them  from  the  gasping  grave. 

My  life,  my  blood  I  here  present, 
If  for  Thy  truth  they  may  be  spent : 
Fulfil  Thy  sov'reign  counsel,  Lord  : 
Thy  Will  be  done  !  Thy  Name  ador'd  ! 


2IO  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Give  me  Thy  strength,  O  God  of  power  ! 
Then  let  winds  blow,  or  thunders  roar, 
Thy  faithful  witness  will  I  be — 
'Tis  fix'd  !  I  can  do  all  through  Thee  ! 

George  Whitefield 


THURSDAY  IN  WHITSUN  WEEK 


H 


OLY  SPIRIT,  come,  we  pray, 

Come  from  Heaven,  and  shed  the  ray 
Of  Thy  light  divine. 


Come,  Thou  Father  of  the  poor. 
Giver  from  a  boundless  store, 

Light  of  hearts,  O  shine  ! 

Matchless  Comforter  in  w^oe, 
Sweetest  Guest  the  soul  can  know. 
Living  waters  blest ; 

When  we  weep,  our  solace  sweet. 
Coolest  shade  in  summer  heat. 
In  our  labour  rest. 

Holy  and  most  blessed  Light, 
Make  our  inmost  spirits  bright 

With  Thy  radiance  mild  ; 

For  without  Thy  sacred  powders 
Nothing  can  we  own  of  ours, 
Nothing  undefiled. 

What  is  arid  fresh  bedew. 
What  is  sordid  cleanse  anew^, 

Balm  on  the  wounded  pour. 


FRIDAY  IN  WHITSUN  WEEK       21 

What  is  rigid  gently  bend, 

On  what  is  cold  Thy  fervour  send, 

What  has  strayed  restore. 

To  Thine  own  in  every  place 
Give  the  sacred  sevenfold  grace ; 
Give  Thy  faithful  this. 

Give  to  virtue  its  reward, 
Safe  and  peaceful  end  afford  ; 
Give  eternal  bliss. 
King  Robert  Second  of  France 


FRIDAY  IN  WHITSUN  WEEK 

T  HOLD  a  joy,  with  which  I  feel 
J-     A  stranger  intermeddleth  not : 
Which  lies  too  deeply  hid  to  steal ; 
Which  wears  a  form  too  pure  to  blot. 

Mine  own  it  is,  all  claim  beyond ; 

For  none  its  secret  treasure  knows ; 
No  joy  can  wholly  correspond  ; 

Nought  earthly  give  it  cause,  or  close. 

It  wakes  within,  I  know  not  how. 
Save  that  from  Thee,  O  Holy  Dove, 

There  comes,  Christ's  cleansing  to  avow, 
A  gladness  lighting  from  above. 

Thy  teaching  of  an  holy  walk 

The  heart  with  healthful  glow  imbues ; 
And  checked  desire,  and  chastened  talk, 

The  gleam  of  conscious  grace  diffuse. 


212  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

I  hold  the  joy  midst  cares  and  pains, 
Like  secret  kept  on  martyr's  rack ; 

And  'neath  repented  sin  remains 
A  spark  to  bring  the  radiance  back. 

It  cannot  boast  a  rapturous  sense, 
Like  relish  of  earth's  lofty  state  ; 

But  surer  rests,  though  less  intense, 
In  bosom  fixed  to  hope  and  wait. 

An  heirship  in  the  future  lies  ; 

And  present  wealth  I  lightly  miss : 
Joy  whatsoe'er  would  dim  defies. 

Bright  in  the  gleam  of  coming  bliss. 

Lord  Kinloch 


SATURDAY  IN  WHITSUN  WEEK 

SPIRIT,  exiled  long  from  earth, 
Who,  like  rainfall  after  dearth, 
Poured'st  down  from  Christ  on  high. 
Leave  no  more  this  world  of  ours. 
But  with  all  Thy  heavenly  powers 
In  the  Church  be  ever  nigh ! 

Thou  Who,  by  our  Prophet  sent. 
Didst  the  Apostles'  mind  frequent. 

Till  they  grasped  the  Truth  He  taught, 
Oh,  in  this  perplexed  age 
Shine  upon  the  Holy  Page 

And  illuminate  our  thought  ! 

Unction  from  our  great  High  Priest, 
Flowing  down  to  be  increased 


TRINITY  SUNDAY  213 

Through  the  Lord's  ordained  signs 
Come,  anoint  each  sacred  Rite 
And  Thyself  with  us  unite, 

When  our  soul  to  God  inclines ! 

Power  of  Heaven's  enthroned  King, 
Who  to  Peter's  heart  didst  bring 

Strength  to  brave  the  angry  Jews, 
Oh  that  now  with  royal  sway 
Thou  would'st  teach  us  to  obey 

Every  thought  Thou  dost  infuse ! 

G.  T.  S.  Farquhar 


TRINITY  SUNDAY 

MOST  High  and  Holy  Trinity ! 
Who  of  Thy  mercy  mild 
Hast  form'd  me  here  in  Time,  to  be 

Thy  image  and  Thy  child  : 
Oh  let  me  love  Thee  day  and  night 
With  all  my  soul,  with  all  my  might ; 
Oh  come,  Thyself  my  soul  prepare, 
And  make  Thy  dwelling  ever  there  ! 

Father  !  replenish  with  Thy  grace 

This  longing  heart  of  mine. 
Make  it  Thy  quiet  dwelling-place. 

Thy  sacred  inmost  shrine  ! 
Forgive  that  oft  my  spirit  wears 
Her  time  and  strength  in  trivial  cares. 
Enfold  her  in  Thy  changeless  peace, 
So  she  from  all  but  Thee  may  cease  ! 

O  God  the  Son  !  Thy  wisdom's  light 
On  my  dark  reason  pour ; 


214  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Forgive  that  things  of  sense  and  sight 

Were  all  her  joy  of  yore  ; 
Henceforth  let  every  thought  and  deed 
On  Thee  be  fix'd,  from  Thee  proceed, 
Draw  me  to  Thee,  for  I  would  rise 
Above  these  earthly  vanities ! 

O  Holy  Ghost !  Thou  fire  of  love, 

Enkindle  with  Thy  flame  my  will ; 
Come  with  Thy  strength.  Lord,  from  above. 

Help  me  Thy  bidding  to  fulfil : 
Forgive  that  I  so  oft  have  done 
What  I  as  sinful  ought  to  shun ; 
Let  me  with  pure  and  quenchless  fire 
Thy  favour  and  Thyself  desire  ! 

Most  High  and  Holy  Trinity  ! 

Draw  me  away  far  hence. 
And  fix  upon  eternity 

All  power  of  soul  and  sense ! 
Make  me  at  one  within ;  at  one 
With  Thee  on  earth ;  when  life  is  done 
Take  me  to  dwell  in  light  with  Thee, 
Most  High  and  Holy  Trinity  ! 

Lyra  Germanica 


MONDAY  AFTER  TRINITY  SUNDAY 

FAITH  of  our  fathers  !  living  still 
In  spite  of  dungeon,  fire,  and  sword ; 
Oh  how  our  hearts  beat  high  with  joy 

Whene'er  we  hear  that  glorious  word ; 
Faith  of  our  fathers  !  Holy  Faith  ! 
We  will  be  true  to  thee  till  death. 


TUESDAY  AFTER  TRINITY  SUNDAY    215 

Our  fathers  chain'd  in  prisons  dark, 

Were  still  in  heart  and  conscience  free ; 

How  sweet  would  be  their  children's  fate, 
If  they,  like  them,  could  die  for  thee  ! 

Faith  of  our  fathers  !  Holy  Faith  ! 

We  will  be  true  to  thee  till  death. 

Faith  of  our  fathers  !  we  will  love 
Both  friend  and  foe  in  all  our  strife ; 

And  preach  thee,  too,  as  love  knows  how, 
By  kindly  words  and  virtuous  life ; 

Faith  of  our  fathers  !  Holy  Faith  ! 

We  will  be  true  to  thee  till  death. 

Frederick  William  Faber 


TUESDAY  AFTER  TRINITY  SUNDAY 

SPIRIT,  soul  and  body's  union. 
Mingling  with  the  heavenly  host, 
One  with  God  in  Christ's  communion, 
Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost. 

With  the  water,  blood,  and  spirit 

Sanctified  in  one  on  earth. 
Wholly  blameless,  may  be  merit. 

Wholly  all  the  heavenly  birth. 

Light  and  cloud  of  God's  indwelling, 
Breathed  to  make  a  living  soul, 

Spirit,  passion's  fury  quelling 
With  a  more  than  man's  control. 

Mirror  of  that  breath's  reflection, 
Soul,  yet  dew'd  with  earthly  sense. 


1 6  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Source  of  holiest  affection, 
Shrine  of  purest  innocence. 

Body,  that  shall  be  celestial, 

Now  so  sinful  and  so  frail, 
Outer  court  of  things  terrestrial, 

Parted  with  the  fleshly  veil. 

O  the  joy,  when,  without  ending. 
When  your  three-fold  work  is  done, 

Spirit,  soul,  and  body  blending, 
You  shall  be  with  God  in  one. 

Herbert  Kynaston 


WEDNESDAY  AFTER  TRINITY  SUNDAY 


O 


(UR  Father" — happy  he  that  knows 
Of  that  dear  word  the  sweet  repose ; 
Who  on  Thy  Will  doth  strive  to  lean. 
And  hopes  of  comfort  wean 
From  her,  our  evil  mother's  breast ; — 
Yea,  like  a  weaned  child  doth  yield,  and  is  at  rest. 

As  darker  vengeance  seem'd  to  dwell 
On  Thy  forsaken  Israel, 
And  Zion's  daughter  had  her  throne 
Upon  the  desert  stone. 
As  Canaan's  sun  sunk  down  beneath  the  sea, 
The  brighter  broke  the  lights  of  Gospel  prophecy. 

Now  that  we,  wise  and  prudent  grown. 
Forget  the  lore  to  babes  made  known. 
And  there  are  sounds  upon  the  wind 
Of  Judgment  close  behind, 


THURSDAY  AFTER  TRINITY  SUNDAY  217 

All  will  be  well,  if  sights  of  stern  alarm 
But  teach  to  cling  more  close  unto  a  Father's  arm. 

So  may  we  walk  through  that  dark  dell 
Where  death  and  death's  dim  shadows  dwell, 
Knowing  beyond  in  that  bright  vale 
Nor  health  nor  peace  shall  fail ; 
The  silver  eye  of  Heaven  looks  out  afar 
On  evening  going  down  upon  her  golden  car. 

And  we  too  may  look  back  erewhile, 
And  from  a  Parent's  bosom  smile, 
And  sing  His  praise  for  endless  day, 
"  Who  left  us  not  a  prey ; 
As  birds  from  fowler's  snare,  so  we 
Have  'scap'd ;  the  snare  is  broke,  we  are  for  ever 
free." 

Isaac  Williams 


THURSDAY  AFTER  TRINITY  SUNDAY 

I  LATELY  talked  with  one  who  strove 
To  show  that  all  my  faith  was  dim, 
That  his  alone,  the  road  to  Heaven ; 
And  thus  it  was  I  answered  him — 

"  Strike  not  the  staff  I  hold  away. 
You  cannot  give  me  yours,  dear  friend ; 

Up  the  steep  hill  our  paths  are  set 
In  different  wise,  to  one  sure  end. 

"  What  though  with  eagle-glance  upfixt 
On  heights  beyond  our  mortal  ken, 

You  tread  the  broad  sure  stones  of  faith 
More  firmly  than  do  weaker  men. 


2i8  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

"  Snatch  not  away  the  gUmmering  Hght 
The  father  holds,  the  son  rejects, 

Nor  thrust  your  candle  in  their  eyes, 
And  bhnd  them, — into  narrow  sects. 

"  To  each  according  to  his  strength  : 
But  as  we  leave  the  plains  below, 

Let  us  carve  out  a  wider  stair, 

A  broader  pathway  through  the  snow. 

"  And  when  upon  the  golden  crest 
We  stand  at  last  together,  freed 

From  mists  that  gather  round  the  base, 
And  clouds  that  but  obscure  our  creed, 

"  We  shall  perceive  that  though  our  steps 
Have  wandered  wide  apart,  dear  friend, 

No  pathway  can  be  wholly  wrong 
That  leads  unto  one  perfect  end." 

Hamilton  Aide 


FRIDAY  AFTER  TRINITY  SUNDAY 

LET  thy  gold  be  cast  in  the  furnace, 
Thy  red  gold,  precious  and  bright ; 
Do  not  fear  the  hungry  fire 

With  its  caverns  of  burning  light : 
And  thy  gold  shall  return  more  precious, 

Free  from  every  spot  and  stain ; 
For  gold  must  be  tried  by  fire, 
As  a  heart  must  be  tried  by  pain ! 

In  the  cruel  fire  of  Sorrow 

Cast  thy  heart ;  do  not  faint  or  wail ; 


SATURDAY  AFTER  TRINITY  SUNDAY  219 

Let  thy  hand  be  firm  and  steady ; 

Do  not  let  thy  spirit  quail  : 
But  wait  till  the  trial  is  over, 

And  take  thy  heart  again  ; 
For  as  gold  is  tried  by  fire, 

So  a  heart  must  be  tried  by  pain  ! 

I  shall  know  by  the  gleam  and  glitter 

Of  the  golden  chain  you  wear, 
By  your  heart's  calm  strength  in  loving 

Of  the  fire  they  have  had  to  bear. 
Beat  on,  true  heart,  for  ever ; 

Shine  bright,  strong  golden  chain ; 
And  bless  the  cleansing  fire 

And  the  furnace  of  living  pain. 

Adelaide  Anne  Procter 


SATURDAY  AFTER  TRINITY  SUNDAY 

WIDE  the  compass  of  the  world, 
Peopled  by  a  countless  host ; 
And  the  flag  of  Sin  unfurled 

Waves  in  pride  o'er  every  coast ! 
Therefore,  Lord,  we  said  : — "  In  vain 
Strive  we  to  enlarge  Thy  reign  !  " 

Yet  we  hear  Thy  sure  command  : — 
*'  Go  and  make  your  voices  ring 

With  My  Gospel  in  each  land, 
Till  the  nations  own  Me  King  ! " 

Therefore  woe  be  on  us,  Lord, 

Should  we  fail  to  preach  Thy  Word  ! 


220  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Something  greater,  too,  than  fear 
Sways  us  now  with  fond  control : 

Moved  by  love,  we  know  how  dear 
Is  Thy  service  to  the  soul ! 

Therefore,  Lord,  we  will  proclaim 

Joyfully  Thy  blessed  Name  ! 

What  though  we  ourselves  are  weak 
And  the  task  beyond  our  power  ? 

Thou,  O  Lord,  to  those  who  seek, 
Givest  Grace  from  hour  to  hour. 

Therefore  we  advance  to  fight, 

Sure  of  victory  by  Thy  might ! 

G.  T.  S.  Farquhar 


THE  FIRST  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY 

GOD  is  Love,"  the  Heavens  tell  it, 
Through  their  glorious  orbs  of  light ; 
In  that  glad  and  golden  language. 
Speaking  to  us  day  and  night. 

Their  great  story, 
"  God  is  Love,"  and  God  is  Might. 

And  the  teeming  earth  rejoices, 

In  that  message  from  above  ; 
With  ten  thousand  thousand  voices, 

TeUing  back,  from  hill,  and  grove, 
Her  glad  story, 
God  is  Might,  and  "  God  is  Love." 

Through  these  anthems  of  Creation, 

Struggling  up  with  gentle  strife, 
Christian  songs,  of  Christ's  salvation, 


FIRST  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     221 

To  the  world,  with  blessings  rife, 
Tell  their  story, 
"  God  is  Love,"  and  God  is  Life. 

Through  that  precious  "  Love  "  He  sought  us, 

Wand'ring  from  His  holy  ways  ; 
With  that  precious  "  Life  "  He  bought  us ; 
Then  let  all  our  future  days. 

Tell  this  story, 
Love's  our  life — our  lives  be  praise. 

John  S.  B.  Monsell 


WEEK  OF  THE  FIRST  SUNDAY  AFTER 
TRINITY 

MONDAY 

IMMORTAL  Love,  for  ever  full, 
^     For  ever  flowing  free  ; 
For  ever  shared,  for  ever  whole, 
A  never-ebbing  sea ! 

Our  outward  lips  confess  the  Name 

All  other  names  above ; 
Love  only  knoweth  whence  it  came. 

And  comprehendeth  Love. 

Blow,  winds  of  God,  awake  and  blow 

The  mists  of  earth  away  ! 
Shine  out,  O  Light  Divine,  and  show 

How  far  and  wide  we  stray  ! 

Hush  every  lip,  close  every  book, 
The  strife  of  tongues  forbear ; 


22  2  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Why  forward  reach,  or  backward  look, 
For  Love  that  clasps  like  air  ? 

We  may  not  climb  the  heavenly  steeps 
To  bring  the  Lord  Christ  down : 

In  vain  we  search  the  lowest  deeps, 
For  Him  no  depths  can  drown. 


In  joy  of  inward  peace,  or  sense 

Of  sorrow  over  sin, 
He  is  His  own  best  evidence, 

His  witness  is  within. 

No  fable  old,  nor  mythic  lore, 
Nor  dream  of  bards  and  seers. 

No  dead  fact  stranded  on  the  shore 
Of  the  oblivious  years, — 

But  warm,  sweet,  tender,  even  yet 

A  present  help  is  He  ; 
And  Faith  has  still  its  Olivet, 

And  Love  its  Galilee. 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier 


TUESDAY 

LOVE  hath  descended  from  His  Throne  on  high, 
And  taken  brotherhood  with  man  below ; 
A  Man  full  pledged  to  sorrow,  pledged  to  sigh, 
He  pour'd  His  Love  on  those  that  wrought  His 
woe. 
What  surer  proof  could  best  affection  show 
Than  thus  to  suffer  ?     And,  for  us  if  He, 
Shall  we  not  for  His  sake,  some  suffering  know ; 


FIRST  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     223 

That  we,  as  lov'd,  may  also  loving  be, 
And  for  Love's  sake,  by  Love,  from  sin  and  shame 
be  free? 

But  Love  doth  not  in  contemplation  dwell, 

Lock'd  in  the  bosom's  innermost  recess, 
Which  it  doth  still  with  sighs  and  longing  swell 

But  never  passeth  ;  which  it  may  oppress 
By  brooding  thoughts,  to  utter  hopelessness, 

But  never  ease  by  action ; — forth  it  goes 
And  doth  itself  to  that  high  task  address 

Whence  only  cometh  solace  to  all  woes, 
And  which  alone  the  fount  of  endless  gladness 
knows. 

The  task  of  Love  is  that  of  man  below, 

Fulfilment  of  the  law  of  God  above  ; 
The  only  task  which  doth  perfection  know, 

And  which  for  its  own  sake  doth  merit  love, 
And  upon  earth,  as  not  of  earth,  doth  move  : 

O  happy,  happy,  who  Love's  task  fulfil, 
Nor  from  affection's  settled  purpose  rove ; 

But  their  true  loving  Lord  do  copy  still, 
And,  for  Love's  sake,  by  Love,  do  execute  Love's 
will. 

A.  H.  Wratislaw 


WEDNESDAY 

ALL  things  that  are  on  earth  shall  wholly  pass 
away. 
Except  the  Love  of  God,  which  shall  live  and  last 

for  aye. 
The  forms  of  men  shall  be  as  they  had  never  been  ; 
The   blasted   groves   shall   lose    their    fresh    and 
tender  green ; 


224  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

The  birds  of  the  thicket  shall  end  their  pleasant 

song, 
And    the    nightingale   shall   cease   to   chant   the 

evening  long ; 
The  kine  of  the  pasture  shall  feel  the  dart  that 

kills, 
And  all  the  fair  white  flocks  shall  perish  from  the 

hills. 
The  goat  and  antlered  stag,  the  wolf  and  the  fox, 
The  wild  boar  of  the  wood,  and  the  chamois  of 

the  rocks, 
And  the  strong  and  fearless  bear,  in  the  trodden 

dust  shall  lie ; 
And  the  dolphin  of  the  sea,  and  the  mighty  whale, 

shall  die. 
And  realms  shall  be  dissolved,  and  empires  be 

no  more, 
And  they  shall  bow  to  death,  who   ruled   from 

shore  to  shore ; 
And  the  great  globe  itself,  so  the  holy  writings  tell. 
With    the    rolling    firmament,    where    the   starry 

armies  dwell, 
Shall  melt  with  fervent  heat — they  shall  all  pass 

away. 
Except  the  Love  of  God,  which  shall  live  and  last 

for  aye. 

William  Cullen  Bryant 


THURSDAY 

WHAT  joyful  harvester  did  ere  obtain 
The  sweet  fruition  of  his  hopeful  gain. 
Till  he  in  hardy  labours  first  had  passed 
The  summer's  heat,  and  stormy  winter's  blast  ? 
A  sable  night  returns  a  shining  morrow, 
And  days  of  joy  ensue  sad  nights  of  sorrow; 


FIRST  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     225 

The  way  to  bliss  lies  not  on  beds  of  down, 
And  he  that  has  no  cross  deserves  no  crown. 
There's  but  one  Heaven,  one  place  of  perfect  ease, 
In  man  it  lies,  to  take  it  where  he  please. 
Above,  or  here  below  :  and  few  men  do 
Enjoy  the  one,  and  taste  the  other  too : 
Wisdom,  the  antidote  of  sad  despair. 
Makes  sharp  afflictions  seem  not  as  they  are. 
Through  patient  sufferance ;  and  doth  apprehend, 
Not  as  they  seeming  are,  but  as  they  end. 
Who  sends  affliction,  sends  an  end,  and  He 
Best  knows  what's  best  for  Him,  what's  best  for 

me : 
'Tis  not  for  me  to  carve  me  where  I  like ; 
Him  pleases  when  He  list  to  stroke  or  strike. 
I'll  neither  wish,  nor  yet  avoid  temptation. 
But  still  expect  it,  and  make  preparation : 
If  He  think  best  my  faith  shall  not  be  tried ; 
Lord,  keep  me  spotless  from  presumptuous  pride : 
If  otherwise,  with  Thy  trial,  give  me  care 
By  thankful  patience  to  avoid  despair : 
Fit  me  to  bear  whate'er  Thou  shalt  assign ; 
I  kiss  the  rod,  because  the  rod  is  Thine. 
Howe'er  let  me  not  boast,  nor  yet  repine. 
With  trial,  or  without.  Lord,  make  me  Thine. 

Francis  Quarles 


FRIDAY 

O  BRIGHT  Ideals,  how  ye  shine,   , 
Aloft  in  realms  of  air  ! 
Ye  pour  your  streams  of  light  divine 
Above  our  low  despair. 

I've  climbed,  and  climbed  these  weary  years 

To  come  your  glories  nigh ; 
p 


226  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

I'm  tired  of  climbing,  and  in  tears 
Here  on  the  earth  I  lie. 

As  a  weak  child  all  vainly  tries 

To  pluck  the  evening  star, 
So  vain  have  been  my  life-long  cries 

To  reach  up  where  ye  are. 

Shine  on,  shine  on,  through  earth's  dark  night, 

Nor  let  your  glories  pale  ! 
Some  stronger  soul  may  win  the  height 

Where  weaker  ones  must  fail. 

And  this  one  thought  of  hope  and  trust 

Comes  with  its  soothing  balm, 
As  here  I  lay  my  brow  in  dust. 

And  breathe  my  lowly  psalm, — 

That  not  for  heights  of  victory  won, 

But  those  I  tried  to  gain. 
Will  come  my  gracious  Lord's  '*  Well  done  ! " 

And  sweet  effacing  rain. 

Then  on  your  awful  heights  of  blue 

Shine  on,  for  ever  shine ; 
I  come  !  I'll  climb,  I'll  fly  to  you, 

For  endless  years  of  mine. 

Edmund  Hamilton  Sears 


SATURDAY 

WE  all  are  in  one  school ; 
Each  hath  his  daily  lesson,  line  on  line ; 
But  sterner  chastisement  and  stricter  rule 
God  doth  for  some  design. 


FIRST  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     227 

Nor  chief  nor  only  those 
Who   break  their  bands,   and   cast    their    cords 

away, 
Who,  unsubmissive,  murmur  and  oppose, 

He  scourgeth  day  by  day. 

But  whom  the  Master's  eye 
With  wise  discernment  singles  from  the  throng, 
Beholding  that  far  down  which,  raised  on  high 

Shall  turn  to  Angel's  song ; — 

Unseen,  deep-hidden  love, 
Of  power  untried,  or  wise  unconscious  skill, 
By   outward    hindrance    marred,    He    thus   doth 
prove 

Chastising  to  His  will. 

He  wisely  loveth  all ; 
And  whom  He   loves.   He   still   doth   train   and 

teach  ; 
But  whom  He  loveth  most,  on  them  doth  fall 

Ofttimes  His  sharpest  speech  ; 

Whereat  they  wonder  much 
And  envy  oft,  when  other  souls  the  while, 
That  lightlier  serve,  receive  the  gentler  touch, 

The  kinder-seeming  smile. 

But  He  doth  all  things  right. 
Gathering  both    pearls    and    diamonds    for    His 

crown, 
Those  cleansing,  these  transforming  for  delight, 
Pruning  all  roughness  down. 

Charles  Lawrence  Ford 


228  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 


THE  SECOND  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY 

SKIRTING  the  azure  of  the  summer  sky 
Along  the  horizon  like  a  wall  of  snow, 
A  bank  of  cloud  appeared,  and,  soaring  high. 
Upraised  at  intervals  a  warlike  show 
Of  glistering  bastions  in  an  ordered  row. 
But   ah !    what   change   a   few   brief  moments 
wrought ! 
The  fleecy  rampart  lost  its  radiant  glow  : 
Its  towery  forms  to  other  shapes  were  brought 
And  the  proud  vision  passed  and  spake  another 
thought. 

All  this  was  done  with  utter  quietude, 

Far,  far  above  the  sounds  of  earthly  care ; 
And  I  was  moved  therewith,  and  understood 
God  speaking  to  me  from  the  silent  air  : — 
"  Seest  thou,"  He  asked,  "  the  clouds  enforced 
to  wear 
Their  shapes  and  hues  for  but  a  little  space  ? 
They  teach  thee  how  the  world  itself  must 
fare; 
That  stars  and  planets  ebb  and  flow  apace, 
And   man    must    vary   too    before    he    see    My 
Face ! " 

"  If  this  be  so,  Eternal  God,"  I  said, 

"If    every    form    must    change    but    Thou 
alone. 
How  are  we  mortals  piteously  misled  ! 

Alas,  we  place  the  creatures  on  Thy  Throne, 
Which,   when   Thine  all-prevailing   Breath  has 
blown. 


SECOND  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     229 

Vanish  like  mists,  that  last  not  half  a  day  ! 
Thou  changeless  Lord,  since  yonder  clouds 
have  shown 
Mortality  its  doom  by  their  array, 
O  draw  my  wandering  love  to  rest  in  Thee  alway  !  " 

G.  T.  S.  Farquhar 


WEEK  OF  THE  SECOND  SUNDAY  AFTER 
TRINITY 

MONDAY 

"  /^  OD  is  my  strength  !  "—Be  this  my  shield, 

^^     Whether  my  duty  calls  me  forth 
To  the  high  places  of  the  field, 

Or  to  some  modest  path  on  earth. 
When  the  fierce  fight  begins  to  thicken. 

And  the  soul  wrestles  as  for  life, 
Striving  my  weary  steps  to  quicken 

Ever  onward  through  the  strife ; 
How  often  would  my  spirit  fail  me, 

If  I  could  not,  amidst  the  fight, 
Hear  the  Lord's  voice,  when  foes  assail  me, — 

"  My  son,  go  on  in  this  thy  might." 

When  the  world's  enchantments  lure  me, 

Or  when  its  menaces  appal ; 
Nature  too  feeble  to  secure  me. 

And  certain  in  its  pride  to  fall ; 
When  tempted  to  forsake  the  way, 

Loving  the  present  world  too  well. 
Backward  to  work,  and  watch,  and  pray  ; 

In  bondage  to  the  enchanter's  spell; 


230  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

When,  Lord,  I  walk  too  much  by  sight, 
When  faith  and  hope  are  well-nigh  flown, 

Teach  me  to  lean  upon  Thy  might, 
For  I  have  none  to  call  my  own. 

In  ev'ry  trial  and  temptation, 

In  all  life's  burdens,  toils,  and  cares. 
The  one  great  end, — the  soul's  salvation, 

Is  that  for  which  true  faith  prepares. 
Faint  in  myself,  and  yet  pursuing. 

Faith  is  contented  to  obey. 
Knowing,  like  Gideon,  God  is  doing 

His  own  great  work  in  His  own  way. 
The  way,  however  dark  and  dreary, 

Leads  to  a  land  where  all  is  light, 
And  I  am  strong,  though  faint  and  weary. 

If  journeying  in  this  Thy  might. 

John  Streatfeild 


TUESDAY 

T^VERMORE  their  lauds  the  Angel  hosts  are 
-C'     singing. 

Honour,  praise,  and  glory  to  the  Three  in  One ; 
Wherefore  should  not  we  too,  our  lowly  service 
bringing. 
Swell  that  mighty  chorus  ever  here  beneath  the 
sun? 

Saviour,  Thou  hast  told  us,  wheresoe'er  assemble 
Two  or  three  to  praise  Thee,  there  Thou  art 
surely  nigh, 
There  too  are  Thine  Angels :  so  let  the  haughty 
tremble. 
For  those  mighty  spirits  fold  their  snow-white 
wings  and  cry — 


SECOND  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     231 

Lowly,  lowly  bending  in  deepest  adoration — 

"  Holy,  holy,  holy,  God  of  Hosts,"  they  sing  : 
With  their  glorious  voices   they   swell   our  faint 
oblation ; 
Round  us  still  they  hover  when  our  sacrifice  we 
bring. 

Into  all  the  glories  of  our  Rites  most  holy, 
Sacrificial  wonders.  Angels  deign  to  look  : 

Christ  hath  died  for  mortals  in  self-devotion  lowly  : 
Thence  do  Angels  wait  on  man,  so  saith  the 
Sacred  Book. 

How   can   we   be   worthy,   we   weak   and   erring 
creatures. 
Of   such    wondrous    blessing,   that   Angels   us 
befriend  ? 
Something    grant    us.   Saviour,    of    those   Angel 
natures. 
Love  for  Thee  as  boundless,  love  to  serve  Thee 
without  end. 

Archer  Gurney 


WEDNESDAY 

WORKMAN  of  God !  oh  lose  not  heart, 
But  learn  what  God  is  like ; 
And  in  the  darkest  battle-field 
Thou  shalt  know  where  to  strike. 


Oh  learn  to  scorn  the  praise  of  men ! 

Oh  learn  to  lose  with  God ! 
For  Jesus  won  the  world  through  shame, 

And  beckons  thee  His  road. 


232  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

God's  glory  is  a  wondrous  thing, 
Most  strange  in  all  its  ways  ; 

And  of  all  things  on  earth,  least  like 
What  men  agree  to  praise. 

As  He  can  endless  glory  weave 
From  time's  misjudging  shame; 

In  His  own  world,  He  is  content 
To  play  a  losing  game. 

Muse  on  His  justice,  downcast  soul ! 

Muse,  and  take  better  heart ; 
Back  with  thine  Angel  to  the  field. 

Good  luck  shall  crown  thy  part. 

God's  justice  is  a  bed  where  we 
Our  anxious  hearts  may  lay  : 

And,  weary  with  ourselves,  may  sleep 
Our  discontent  away. 

For  right  is  right,  since  God  is  God, 
And  right  the  day  must  win  ; 

To  doubt  would  be  disloyalty. 
To  falter  would  be  sin. 

Frederick  William  Faber 


THURSDAY 

OH  !  help  me,  Lord,  to  seek  Thy  face, 
Obedient  to  Thy  call. 
To  seek  the  presence  of  Thy  grace, 
My  strength,  my  life,  my  all. 

All  I  can  wish  is  Thine  to  give  ; 

I  only  ask  Thy  love — 
That  greatest  bliss  I  can  receive, 

That  bliss  of  Heaven  above. 


SECOND  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     233 

In  these  dark  scenes  of  pain  and  woe, 

What  can  my  spirit  find  ? 
No  happiness  can  dwell  below, 

To  fill  th'  immortal  mind  ! 

To  Heaven  my  restless  soul  aspires : 

Oh,  for  a  quickening  ray 
To  strengthen  my  poor  faint  desire. 

And  cheer  the  tiresome  way. 

The  path  to  Thy  divine  abode 

Through  weary  deserts  lies, 
A  thousand  snares  beset  the  road, 

A  thousand  terrors  rise. 

Satan  and  sin  unite  their  art 

To  keep  me  from  my  Lord  ; 
Dear  Saviour,  guard  my  trembling  heart, 

And  guide  me  by  Thy  Word. 

My  Guardian,  my  Almighty  Friend, 
On  Thee  my  soul  would  rest : 

On  Thee  alone  my  hopes  depend — 
Be  near,  and  I  am  blest. 

Anne  Steele 


FRIDAY 

THE  Poet  scanned  with  mighty  awe 
The  mystery  of  Man  ; 
He  spake  the  strange  things  that  he  saw. 
And  thus  it  ran  : — 

"  The  silent  stars  are  overhead, 

The  silent  graves  below  : 
A  dream  between — how  quickly  fled  ! — 
Is  all  we  know." 


234  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

He  pointed  up — he  pointed  down — 

The  witnesses  were  there. 
O'er  the  between  a  veil  was  thrown 
He  could  not  tear. 

The  Preacher  saw  the  hand  he  raised, 

And  heard  the  words  he  spake ; 
And  in  his  soul  with  grief  amazed 
A  fire  outbrake. 

"  Poet,"  he  cried,  "  the  things  we  see 

They  are  not  all  we  know  ; 
The  web  of  thy  philosophy 
I  rend  it  so  !  " — 

He  pointed  with  his  eager  hand 

Behind  and  then  before, — 
And  there,  and  there,  for  ever  stand 
Two  wonders  more. 

"  The  silent  stars  sing  out  with  mirth, 
The  graves  with  grass  are  green  : — 
Christ  Cometh  twice  upon  the  earth ; — 
We  live  between  !  " 

William  Walsham  How 


SATURDAY 

OFT  when  of  God  we  ask 
For  fuller,  happier  life, 
He  sets  us  some  new  task 

Involving  care  and  strife  : 
Is  this  the  boon  for  which  we  sought  ? 
Has  prayer  new  trouble  on  us  brought  ? 

This  is  indeed  the  boon. 

Though  strange  to  us  it  seems ; 


THIRD  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     235 

We  pierce  the  rock,  and  soon 

The  blessing  on  us  streams ; 

For  when  we  are  the  most  athirst, 

Then  the  clear  waters  on  us  burst. 

We  toil  as  in  a  field, 

Wherein,  to  us  unknown, 
A  treasure  lies  concealed, 

Which  may  be  all  our  own  : 
And  shall  we  of  the  toil  complain 
That  speedily  will  bring  such  gain  ? 

We  dig  the  wells  of  life, 

And  God  the  waters  gives ; 
We  win  our  way  by  strife. 

Then  He  within  us  lives ; 
And  only  war  could  make  us  meet 
For  peace  so  sacred  and  so  sweet. 

Thomas  Toke  Lynch 


THE  THIRD  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY 

HUSHED  was  the  evening  hymn, 
The  Temple  courts  were  dark ; 
The  lamp  was  burning  dim 
Before  the  sacred  ark  ; 
When  suddenly  a  Voice  Divine 
Rang  through  the  silence  of  the  shrine. 

The  old  man,  meek  and  mild. 
The  priest  of  Israel,  slept ; 
His  watch  the  Temple-child, 
The  little  Levite  kept ; 


236  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

And  what  from  Eli's  sense  was  sealed, 
The  Lord  to  Hannah's  son  revealed. 

Oh  !  give  me  Samuel's  ear, 

The  open  ear,  O  Lord, 

Alive,  and  quick  to  hear 

Each  whisper  of  Thy  word  : 
Like  him  to  answer  at  Thy  call, 
And  to  obey  Thee  first  of  all. 

Oh  !  give  me  Samuel's  heart, 

A  lowly  heart  that  waits. 

Where  in  Thy  house  Thou  art. 

Or  watches  at  Thy  gates. 
By  day  and  night,  a  heart  that  still 
Moves  at  the  breathing  of  Thy  will. 

Oh  !  give  me  Samuel's  mind, 

A  sweet,  unmurmuring  faith. 

Obedient  and  resigned 

To  Thee  in  life  and  death ; 
That  I  may  read  with  child-like  eyes 
Truths  that  are  hidden  from  the  wise. 

James  Drummond  Burns 


WEEK  OF  THE  THIRD  SUNDAY  AFTER 
TRINITY 

MONDAY 

GOD  called  the  nearest  Angels  who  dwell  with 
Him  above, 
The  tenderest  one  was  Pity,  the  dearest  one  was 
Love. 


THIRD  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     237 

"  Arise,"  He  said,  "  My  Angels  !  a  wail  of  woe  and 

sin 
Steals  through  the  gate  of  Heaven,  and  saddens  all 

within. 


"  My  harps  take  up  the  mournful  strain  that  from 

a  lost  world  swells. 
The  smoke  of  torment  clouds  the  light  and  blights 

the  asphodels. 

"Fly  downward  to  that  under  world,  and  on  its 

souls  of  pain 
Let  Love  drop  smiles  like  sunshine,  and  Pity  tears 

like  rain ! " 

Two  faces  bowed  before  the  Throne  veiled  in  their 

golden  hair : 
Four  white  wings  lessened  swiftly  down  the  dark 

abyss  of  air. 

The  way  was  strange,  the  flight  was  long ;  at  last 
the  Angels  came, 

Where  swung  the  lost  and  nether  world,  red- 
wrapped  in  rayless  flame. 

There  Pity,  shuddering,  wept ;  but  Love,  with  faith 

too  strong  for  fear, 
Took  heart  from  God's  almightiness,  and  smiled  a 

smile  of  cheer. 

And   lo !    that  tear  of  Pity  quenched   the   flame 

whereon  it  fell, 
And,  with  the  sunshine  of  that  smile,  hope  entered 

into  hell ! 


238  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Two  unveiled  faces  full  of  joy  looked  upward  to 

the  Throne, 
Four  white  wings  folded  at  the  feet  of  Him  Who 

sat  thereon  ! 

And  deeper  than  the  sound  of  seas,  more  soft  than 

falling  flake, 
Amidst   the   hush  of  wing  and   song  the  Voice 

Eternal  spake — 

"  Welcome,  My  Angels  !  ye  have  brought  a  holier 

joy  to  Heaven ; 
Henceforth  its  sweetest  song  shall  be  the  song  of 

sin  forgiven  ! " 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier 


TUESDAY 

BLESSED  Light  of  saints  on  high. 
Who  fill  the  mansions  of  the  sky ; 
Sure  defence.  Whose  mercy  still 
Preserves  Thy  subjects  here  from  ill ; 
O,  my  Jesus,  make  me  know 
How  to  pay  the  thanks  I  owe. 

As  the  fond  sheep  that  idly  strays, 
With  wanton  play,  through  winding  ways, 
Which  never  hits  the  road  of  home, 
O'er  wilds  of  danger  learns  to  roam. 
Till,  wearied  out  with  idle  fear. 
And,  passing  there,  and  turning  here, 
He  will,  for  rest,  to  covert  run. 
And  meet  the  wolf  he  wish'd  to  shun ; 
Thus  wretched  I,  through  wanton  will, 
Run  blind  and  headlong  on  in  ill : 


THIRD  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     239 

'Twas  thus  from  sin  to  sin  I  flew, 

And  thus  I  might  have  perish'd  too : 

But  Mercy  dropp'd  the  likeness  here, 

And  show'd,  and  sav'd  me  from  my  fear. 

While  o'er  the  darkness  of  my  mind 

The  Sacred  Spirit  purely  shin'd, 

And  mark'd,  and  brighten'd  all  the  way 

Which  leads  to  everlasting  day, 

And  broke  the  thickening  clouds  of  sin, 

And  fix'd  the  light  of  love  within. 

From  hence  my  ravish'd  soul  aspires. 
And  dates  the  rise  of  its  desires. 
From  hence  to  Thee,  my  God  !  I  turn, 
And  fervent  wishes  say  I  burn, 
I  burn,  Thy  glorious  face  to  see. 
And  hve  in  endless  joy  with  Thee. 

Thomas  Parnell 


WEDNESDAY 

ONE  in  one  hundred  lost !  and  ninety-nine 
That  never  knew  another  will  than  Thine ! 
O  Love !  that  holds  so  many  to  Thee  bound, 
Yet  cannot  rest  until  the  lost  be  found. 

And  one  in  ten  through  man's  untoward  neglect. 

Lost  from  the  number  of  the  Lord's  elect ! 

Yet  light  Truth's  candle,   search  the  house  well 

round, 
And  that  lost  image  of  the  Lord  is  found. 

And  one  in  two,  lost  through  the  perverse  will 
That  cannot  rest  contented,  and  be  still ! 
Loves  triple  cord,  unbroken  though  unwound. 
Draws  back  to  pardon,  and  the  lost  is  found. 


240  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Thus  lost!  lost!  lost!  blight  with  their  threefold 

curse 
The  beauty  of  heart,  home,  and  universe  ! 
But  threefold  Love,  with  threefold  glory  crown'd. 
That  lost !  lost !  lost !  blots  out  with  found  !  found  ! 

found ! 

O  Love  !  so  httle  losing  !  at  such  cost 

Restoring  to  Thyself  that  little  lost ! 

This,  this  Thy  praise,  through  worlds  on  worlds 

renown'd 
"  Was  dead,  and  is  alive — was  lost — is  found ! " 
John  S.  B.  Monsell 


THURSDAY 

DARK  was  my  lot,  and  long  it  spurned 
The  poor  reliefs  that  man  could  give ; 
Till  God  my  wayward  spirit  turned. 

And  bade  me  see,  believe,  and  live. 
Then  flowed  my  tears,  then  woke  my  tongue, 
And  loud  His  gracious  mercies  sung. 

O  what  return  can  I  bestow 

On  Him  Who  needeth  nought  from  me  ? 
What  can  I  give  that  will  not  flow 

In  blessings  back,  my  God,  from  Thee  ? 
How  rich  on  earth  Thy  cup  of  Love  ! 
How  richer  still  the  fount  above  ! 

Be  mine  to  own  Thy  gentle  sway, 

To  hve,  to  die  to  Thee  alone  ; 
Whom  should  I  love,  and  whom  obey 

But  Him  Who  made  me  twice  His  own? 
Who  formed  me  by  His  hving  breath  ? 
Who  rescued  me  from  sin  and  death  ? 


THIRD  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     241 

Him  will  I  praise ;  heart,  hand,  and  voice 
To  Him  shall  daily  offerings  bring ; 

E'en  now,  in  hope,  I  will  rejoice. 
With  all  above,  in  spirit,  sing ; 

Till  I  shall  join  those  brighter  choirs 

And  add  fresh  themes  for  Angels'  lyres. 

Henry  Francis  Lyte 


FRIDAY 

NOT  here,  not  here :  not  where  the  sparkling 
waters 
Fade  into  mocking  sands,  as  we  draw  near ; 
Where  in  the  wilderness  each  footstep  falters : 
I  shall  be  satisfied — but  oh,  not  here. 

Not  here — where  every  dream  of  bliss  deceives  us, 
Where  the  worn  spirit  never  gains  its  goal ; 
Where,  haunted  ever  by  the  thought  that  grieves 

us, 
Across  us  floods  of  bitter  memory  roll. 

There  is  a  land  where  every  pulse  is  thrilling 
With  rapture  earth's  sojourners  may  not  know  ; 
Where    Heaven's    repose     the     weary    heart     is 

stilling, 
And  peacefully  life's  time-toss'd  currents  flow. 

Far  out  of  sight,  while  yet  the  flesh  infolds  us, 
Lies  the  fair  country  where  our  hearts  abide, 
And  of  its  bliss  is  nought  more  wondrous  told  us 
Than  these  few  words  :  "  I  shall  be  satisfied." 

Satisfied !  satisfied  !  the  spirit's  yearning  . 
For  sweet  companionship  with  kindred  minds  ; 
The  silent  love  that  here  meets  no  returning, 
The  inspiration  which  no  language  finds. 
Q 


242  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Shall  they  be  satisfied  ? — the  soul's  vague  longings, 
The  aching  void  which  nothing  earthly  fills  ? 

0  what  desires  upon  my  soul  are  thronging, 
As  I  look  upward  to  the  heavenly  hills  ! 

Thither  my  weak  and  weary  feet  are  tending — 
Saviour  and  Lord  with  Thy  frail  child  abide : 
Guide  me  toward  home,  where,  all  my  wanderings 
ended 

1  then  shall  see  Thee  and  "  be  satisfied." 


SATURDAY 

STRIVE  ;  yet  I  do  not  promise 
The  prize  you  dream  of  to-day 
Will  not  fade  when  you  think  to  grasp  it, 

And  melt  in  your  hand  away ; 
But  another  and  holier  treasure 

You  would  not  perchance  disdain, 
Will  come  when  your  toil  is  over. 
And  pay  you  for  all  your  pain. 

Wait ;  yet  I  do  not  tell  you 

The  hour  you  long  for  now, 
Will  not  come  with  its  radiance  vanished 

And  a  shadow  upon  its  brow  ; 
Yet  far  through  the  misty  future. 

With  a  crown  of  starry  light. 
An  hour  of  joy  you  know  not 

Is  winging  her  silent  flight. 

Pray ;  though  the  gift  you  ask  for 
May  never  comfort  your  fears. 

May  never  repay  your  pleading. 
Yet  pray,  and  with  hopeful  tears ; 


FOURTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     243 

An  answer,  not  that  you  long  for, 
But  diviner,  will  come  one  day ; 

Your  eyes  are  too  dim  to  see  it ; 
Yet  strive,  and  wait,  and  pray. 

Adelaide  Anne  Procter 


THE  FOURTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY 

OH,  deem  not  they  are  blest  alone 
Whose  lives  a  peaceful  tenor  keep  ; 
The  Power  Who  pities  man,  hath  shown 
A  blessing  for  the  eyes  that  weep. 

The  light  of  smiles  shall  fill  again 
The  lids  that  overflow  with  tears  ; 

And  weary  hours  of  woe  and  pain 
Are  promises  of  happier  years. 

There  is  a  day  of  sunny  rest 

For  every  dark  and  troubled  night : 

And,  grief  may  bide  an  evening  guest, 
But  joy  shall  come  with  early  light. 

And  thou,  who,  o'er  thy  friend's  low  bier. 
Dost  shed  the  bitter  drops  like  rain, 

Hope  that  a  brighter,  happier  sphere 
Will  give  him  to  thy  arms  again. 

Nor  let  the  good  man's  trust  depart. 
Though  life  its  common  gifts  deny, — 

Though  with  a  pierced  and  bleeding  heart 
And  spurned  of  men,  he  goes  to  die. 

For  God  hath  marked  each  sorrowing  day 
And  numbered  every  secret  tear, 


244  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

And  Heaven's  long  age  of  bliss  shall  pay 
For  all  His  children  suffer  here. 

William  Cullen  Bryant 


WEEK  OF  THE  FOURTH  SUNDAY 
AFTER  TRINITY 

MONDAY 

CHARMING  flowers  !  your  day  is  come- 
Hours  of  sunshine,  hope,  and  joy ; 
Cruel  blasts  no  longer  roam 
You  to  scatter  and  destroy. 

Open  then  your  queenly  state, 

All  your  boundless  charms  display  ; 

Nature's  eyes  expectant  wait 
With  the  watchful  god  of  day. 

Western  zephyrs  crowd  around 
With  their  fond  devoted  sighs, 

Constant  lovers  ever  found 
Of  your  thousand  magic  dyes. 

And  for  you  amid  the  trees 

Tuned  is  yonder  serenade. 
Wafted  softly  on  the  breeze, 

By  admiring  songsters  made. 

Happy  flowers  !  what  bliss  for  you  ! 

Dwelling  all  the  day  in  light. 
Bathed  at  eve  in  showers  of  dew, 

Homage  of  the  silent  night. 


FOURTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY      245 

Go  then,  beauties  !  proudly  reign, 
Nobly  spend  your  little  breath  : 

Fell  disease  and  blight  and  pain 
Onward  stalk  with  nipping  death. 

Fleeter  still  than  human  glory, 
All  your  gorgeous  pomps  decay ; 

None  to  tell  the  fragrant  story. 
Of  your  little  royal  day. 

Flowers  of  virtue  only  last, 

Fading  though  to  mortal  eyes — 

Lo  !  their  blossoms  new  they  cast 
In  the  bowers  of  Paradise  ! 

E.  D.  Jackson 


TUESDAY 

MAN  hath  a  voice  severe, 
His  neighbour's  fault  to  blame, 
A  wakeful  eye,  a  listening  ear. 
To  note  his  brother's  shame. 

He,  with  suspicious  glance. 
The  curtained  breast  doth  read. 
And  raise  the  accusing  balance  high 
To  weigh  the  doubtful  deed. 

O  Thou,  Whose  piercing  thought 
Doth  note  each  secret  path. 
For  mercy  to  Thy  Throne  we  flee, 
From  man's  condemning  wrath. 

Thou  Who  dost  dimness  mark 
In  Heaven's  resplendent  way. 
And  folly  in  that  Angel  host 
Who  serve  Thee  night  and  day ; 


246  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

How  fearless  should  our  trust 
In  Thy  compassion  be, 
When  from  our  brother  of  the  dust 
We  dare  appeal  to  Thee. 

Lydia  Huntley  Sigourney 


WEDNESDAY 

HOW  beautiful  is  Truth  !  she  wins  her  way, 
Through  deepest  night,  to  realms  of  glorious 
day; 
But  fierce  the  struggle, — fierce  the  moral  fight, 
Ere  Truth  serene  can  sun  herself  in  light. 

The  age  moves  on  ! — the  nation's  heaving  mind 
Struggles  to  leave  opposing  mists  behind ; 
And,  having  once  its  onward  course  begun, 
Aims  at  the  light,  as  eagles  seek  the  sun. 

The  future  children  of  this  favour'd  land 

Shall  reap  rewards  from  learning's  liberal  hand  ; 

And  education's  blest  and  lucid  beam 

On  all  shall  fall  with  rich  and  copious  stream. 

Those  helpless  poor — the  aged,  wan,  and  weak  ; 
The  sick  who  sigh,  the  child  which  cannot  speak ; 
Rights  have   they— ^-/^/^/j-,   by   claim  of  kindred 

blood. 
The  right  of  freedom  and  the  right  of  food. 

Too  long  stark  poverty  has  been  a  crime, 
Darkly  recorded  on  the  rolls  of  time  ! 
Too  long,  indeed  ! — but  now  'tis  past,  'tis  o'er, 
And  civil  slavery  soon  shall  be  no  more. 


FOURTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY      247 

Ye  lofty  ones  of  earth,  ye  so-call'd  "  Great," 
Ye  potent  rulers  in  our  Church  and  State, 
Give  ear  to  what  shall  stamp  th'  historic  page, 
Nor  lag  behind  the  progress  of  the  age. 

The  age  moves  ofi  !     The  nation's  heaving  mind 
Feels  the  true  brotherhood  of  humankind. 
Expands  its  wings,  and  lo  !  (its  course  begun) 
Aims  at  the  lights  as  eagles  seek  the  sun  I 

John  Peat 


THURSDAY 

THOUGH  I  am  slow  to  trust  Thee,  Lord, 
Slow  to  believe  Thy  gracious  word. 
Yet  sweet  Thy  promise  is  to  me, 
"  Sufficient  is  My  grace  for  thee." 

Though  trials  often  here,  and  care. 
This  weary  heart  of  mine  must  share, 
How  comforting  Thy  word  to  me, 
"  My  grace  sufficient  is  for  thee." 

Thus  I  can  triumph  in  distress, 
And  find  that  "even  pain  can  bless. 
Feeling  how  sure  Thy  word  to  me, 
"  Sufficient  is  My  grace  for  thee." 

Thy  love  I  know,  O  Lord,  can  shed 
Its  beams  o'er  every  path  I  tread, 
Reviving  me  and  teaching  me, 
"  Sufficient  is  My  grace  for  thee." 

For  Thou  canst  feel  each  grief  /  feel, 
Canst  sympathize,  sustain,  and  heal, 


248  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

And  sweetly  bring  the  truth  to  me, 
"  Thy  grace  sufficient  is  for  me." 

O  Saviour  !  grace  on  me  bestow, 
Then  though  my  tears  may  sometimes  flow. 
The  precious  truth  my  faith  shall  see, 
"  My  grace  sufficient  is  for  thee." 

And  when  I  see  Thee  in  the  light 
Thy  matchless  glory  makes  so  bright. 
Then  shall  I  own,  adoring  Thee, 
"  Sufficient  was  Thy  grace  for  me. 

E.  C. 


FRIDAY 

ONE  by  one  the  sands  are  flowing, 
One  by  one  the  moments  fall ; 
Some  are  coming,  some  are  going ; 
Do  not  strive  to  grasp  them  all. 

One  by  one  thy  duties  wait  thee. 
Let  thy  whole  strength  go  to  each, 

Let  no  future  dreams  elate  thee. 

Learn  thou  first  what  these  can  teach. 

One  by  one — bright  gifts  from  Heaven- 
Joys  are  sent  thee  here  below 

Take  them  readily  when  given. 
Ready  be  to  let  them  go. 

One  by  one  thy  griefs  shall  meet  thee 
Do  not  fear  an  arm^d  band  ; 

One  will  fade  as  others  greet  thee, 
Shadows  passing  through  the  land, 


FOURTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     249 

Do  not  look  at  life's  long  sorrow ; 

See  how  small  each  moment's  pain  ; 
God  will  help  thee  for  to-morrow, 

So  each  day  begin  again. 

Every  hour  that  fleets  so  slowly 

Has  its  task  to  do  or  bear ; 
Luminous  the  crown,  and  holy, 

When  each  gem  is  set  with  care. 

Do  not  linger  with  regretting. 

Or  for  passing  hours  despond  ; 
Nor,  the  daily  toil  forgetting, 

Look  too  eagerly  beyond. 

Hours  are  golden  links,  God's  token. 
Reaching  Heaven ;  but  one  by  one 

Take  them,  lest  the  chain  be  broken 
Ere  the  pilgrimage  be  done. 

Adelaide  Anne  Procter 


SATURDAY 

SEE  how  yon  little  lark  is  borne 
With  music  up  to  heaven, 
To  bask  in  sunlight  ere  the  morn 
To  vales  beneath  is  given. 

That  bird  Salvation's  sign  hath  made 
By  stretching  forth  its  wings  ; 

The  cross  upon  his  back  is  laid, 
And  lo  !  he  soars  and  sings. 

Take  off  the  fardel  that  he  bears, 
He  falleth  in  his  flight ; 


250  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

The  cross  is  in  the  wings  he  wears ; 
He  proves  the  burden  light. 

So  Christ  hath  laid  His  Cross  on  me ; 

It  wings  me  to  the  sky, 
And  day  by  day,  though  sore  it  be, 

By  that  dear  Cross  live  I. 

It  beareth  those  by  whom  'tis  borne. 

And  by  its  weight  we  rise. 
Who  casts  it  down,  he  sinks  forlorn  ; 

Who  takes  it  up,  he  flies. 

Easy  the  yoke,  and  light  the  load, 

Indeed,  my  spirit  sings  ; 
To  him  that  pants  for  God's  abode 

His  cross  shall  prove  his  wings. 

Arthur  Cleveland  Coxe 


THE  FIFTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY 

THERE  are  no  little  things  on  earth. 
There's  nought  beneath  the  Christian's  care. 
No  virtuous  deeds  of  little  worth ; 

The  flower,  upon  the  mountain  bare. 
Where  never  came  admiring  eye. 
The  Lord  has  carved  as  curiously, 
Has  stained  it  with  as  gorgeous  dye. 
As  though  a  thousand  looks  were  there. 

Deem  not  the  simple  charms,  that  dwell 

In  gentle  tone  and  smiling  face, 
The  courtesy,  that  flings  a  spell 

Of  winning  love  and  quiet  grace 


FIFTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     25 

O'er  common  deeds  in  silence  wrought, 
Beneath  the  Christian's  careful  thought ; 
Another  love  our  Lord  has  taught, 
Adorning  many  a  secret  place. 

Upon  the  lonely  mountain  height 

He  bids  His  fair  young  blossoms  swell. 

For  fragrance  all  and  beauty  bright 

Forth  bursting  from  each  dark  green  shell ; 

And  shall  no  flowers  of  courtesie 

Within  our  lowly  hamlets  be. 

To  brighten  with  their  fragrance  free 
The  homes  where  poor  men  dwell  ? 

Oh  !  yes,  the  temple  stones  of  old 

Admiring  glances  ever  drew. 
All  fair  and  beauteous  to  behold. 

Ranged  in  their  polished  order  due ; 
And  lovely  deeds  beseem  us  all. 
The  stones  in  Christ's  own  temple  wall, 
And  nought  is  trivial,  nought  is  small. 

That  we,  for  His  Great  Name,  can  do. 

Cecil  Frances  Alexander 


WEEK  OF  THE  FIFTH  SUNDAY  AFTER 
TRINITY 

MONDAY 

HOW  sweet  the  ways  of  wisdom  early  gain'd 
Growing   with    growth;    and    strength  by 
strength  attain'd. 
As  higher  heights  and  broader  ways  expand 
A  freer  air  more  near  th'  immortal  land, 


252  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

More  treasure  stor'd  in  Heaven !  Then  habit's  might 
Gives  armour,  makes  the  yoke  and  burden  Hght, 
When  with  spontaneous  spring  the  heart  ascends 
In  prayer  to  Heaven,  in  prayer  begins  and  ends ; 
Till  custom  shall  to  nature's  strength  attain, 
Duty  her  present  joy,  her  future  gain. 
Opening  a  wider  path  in  green  old  age 
Strewed  with  calm  hopes  of  her  high  heritage. 
Then  wisdom's  self  descending  from  the  sky 
Shall  train  thy  heart  to  glad  philosophy ; 
And  Christ  Himself  upon  the  way  appears 
In  things  of  Heaven  to  school  thine  eyes  and  ears, 
To  walk  with  thee,  as  erst  with  them  of  old. 
And  all  the  world  around  thee  to  unfold. 
The  scene  to  worldlings  where  their  glory  dies, 
The  grave,  wherein  their  hope  in  ruin  lies. 
Becomes  replete  with  pictures  ever  new. 
Presenting  heavenly  lessons  to  the  view ; — 
Portraying  things  of  our  immortal  birth, 
As  evening  clouds  oft  shadow  things  of  earth, 
Obscure  and  transient,  yet  as  by  they  sail 
There  the  full  heart  reads  many  a  solemn  tale ; 
Each  object  seen  becomes  a  speaking  sign. 
Which  with  a  finger  points  to  things  divine, 
A  mirror  wherein  things  celestial  pass, 
Eternity  disclosed  as  in  a  glass. 

Isaac  Williams 


TUESDAY 

TO  be  thought  ill  of,  worse  than  we  deserve. 
To  have   hard   speeches    said,  cold    looks 
displayed 
By  those  who  should  have  cheered  us  when  we 

swerve, — 
Is  one  of  Heaven's  best  lots,  and  may  be  made 


FIFTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     253 

A  treasure  ere  we  know  it,  a  lone  field 
Which  to  hot  hearts  may  bitter  blessings  yield. 
Either  we  learn  from  our  past  sins  to  shrink, 
When  their  full  guilt  is  kept  before  our  eye. 
And,  thinking  of  ourselves  as  others  think. 
We  so  are  gainers  in  humility  : — 
Or  the  harsh  judgments  are  a  gloomy  screen. 
Fencing  our  altered  lives  from  praise  and  glare  ; 
And  plants  that  grew  in  shades  retain  their  green, 
While  unmeet  sternness  kindly  chills  the  air. 

Frederick  William  Faber 


WEDNESDAY 


M 


Y  heart  was  glad  to  hear  their  call. 

Who  said,  "  To  God's  own  house  we  go,"- 
Thy  gate  and  glorious  wall 
Our  due  feet  early  know ; 


Jerusalem  !  'tis  there  we  stand ; 
Jerusalem  !  for  ever  sure, 

Built  by  th'  unswerving  Hand 

In  union  to  endure ; 

Fair  city,  in  herself  at  rest ! 

The  tribes  are  there,  the  tribes  of  God 

To  her  their  way  address'd. 

And  climb  the  holy  road, 

(A  law  for  Israel  through  all  time ;) 

There  praising  God's  high  Name,  they  met ; 

Full  many  a  throne  sublime 

For  judgment  there  is  set. 

Full  many  a  throne  for  David's  seed  : — 

Come  frame  your  prayer,  come  breathe  your  spell. 


254  CHURCHMAN^S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

For  Salem  in  her  need ! 
Thy  lovers,  fare  they  well ! 

Peace  in  thy  forts  her  refuge  make, 
And  plenty  in  thy  bowers  increase  ! 

For  friends  and  brethren's  sake 

I  bid  thee  joy  and  peace ; 

For  friends  and  hearts  that  are  as  mine, 
Fain  would  I  speak  thee  peace  entire ; 

For  God's  own  glorious  shrine 

Thy  blessing  I  desire. 

John  Keble 


THURSDAY 

HEAVEN  from  all  creatures  hides  the  book  of 
Fate, 
All  but  the  page  prescribed,  their  present  state : 
From  brutes  what   men,    from  men  what  spirits 

know : 
Or  who  could  suffer  being  here  below  ? 
The  lamb  thy  riot  dooms  to  bleed  to-day, 
Had  he  thy  reason,  would  he  skip  and  play  ? 
Pleased  to  the  last,  he  crops  the  flowery  food, 
And  licks  the  hand  just  raised  to  shed  his  blood. 
Oh,  blindness  to  the  future  !  kindly  given. 
That  each  may  fill  the  circle,  marked  by  Heaven : 
Who  sees  with  equal  eye,  as  God  of  all, 
A  hero  perish  or  a  sparrow  fall, 
Atoms  or  systems  into  ruin  hurled, 
And  now  a  bubble  burst  and  now  a  world. 

Hope  humbly,  then ;  with  trembling  pinions  soar; 
Wait  the  great  teacher  Death ;  and  God  adore. 
What  future  bliss,  He  gives  not  thee  to  know. 
But  gives  that  hope  to  be  thy  blessing  now. 


FIFTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     255 

Hope  springs  eternal  in  the  human  breast : 
Man  never  is,  but  always  to  be  blest : 
The  soul,  uneasy  and  confined  from  home, 
Rests  and  expatiates  in  a  Hfe  to  come. 

Alexander  Pope 


FRIDAY 

TIS  first  the  true  and  then  the  beautiful, 
Not  first  the  beautiful  and  then  the  true ; 
First  the  wild  moor,  with  rock  and  reed  and  pool, 
Then  the  gay  garden,  rich  in  scent  and  hue. 

'Tis  first  the  good  and  then  the  beautiful, — 
Not  first  the  beautiful  and  then  the  good ; 

First  the  rough  seed,  sown  in  the  rougher  soil. 
Then  the  flower-blossom,  or  the  branching  wood. 

Not  first  the  glad  and  then  the  sorrowful, — 
But  first  the  sorrowful,  and  then  the  glad ; 

Tears  for  a  day, — for  earth  of  tears  is  full. 
Then  we  forget  that  we  were  ever  sad. 

Not  first  the  bright,  and  after  that  the  dark, — 
But  first  the  dark,  and  after  that  the  bright ; 

First  the  thick  cloud,  and  then  the  rainbow's  arc, 
First  the  dark  grave,  then  resurrection-light. 

'Tis   first   the   night, — stern   night   of  storm   and 
war, — 

Long  night  of  heavy  clouds  and  veiled  skies ; 
Then  the  far  sparkle  of  the  Morning-star, 

That  bids  the  saints  awake  and  dawn  arise. 

HORATIUS  BONAR 


256  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 


SATURDAY 

IN  thorny  thickets  blow  the  sweetest  roses ; 
Lilies  in  damp  woods  droop  their  snow-white 
bells ; 
The  yellow  primrose  'neath  the  brier  reposes ; 
The  purest  water  springs  from  deepest  wells. 

From  common  clay  are  form'd  the  fairest  vessels  ; 

The  diamond  glitters  in  the  darksome  mine ; 
The  golden  wren,  in  her  snug  dwelling  nestles, 

Slung  from  the  branches  of  the  gloomy  pine. 

The  scarlet  seaweeds  wave  their  trembling  tresses 
In  the  deep  ocean-caves  by  man  unseen ; 

And  rocks,  all  black  and  bleak,  the  sea-fern  dresses 
With  spiny  tufts  of  glistening  evergreen. 

And  so  from  out  the  gloom  and  smoke  of  cities 
Deeds  of  deep  love  and  meek  endurance  shine ; 

In  squalid  lanes  is  found  the  heart  that  pities, 
The  soul  that  hungers  after  things  Divine. 

In  foetid  courts  the  steadfast  love  of  woman 

Makes  oftentimes  the  house  of  toil  seem  bright ; 

And  princely  hearts,  which  beat  'neath  garments 
common. 
In  midst  of  wrong  are  ruled  by  truth  and  right. 

Not  men  of  high  degree  alone  in  story, 

In  human  hearts  and  histories,  are  enshrined ; 
The  poor  and  humble  have  their  meed  of  glory  ; 
Some  wreaths    of  laurel   poor  men's  foreheads 
bind. 

Greville  J.  Chester 


SIXTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     257 


THE  SIXTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY 

ALL  things  a  prophecy  contain 
Of  something  higher  still ; 
A  close  relation  all  sustain, 
A  place  and  purpose  fill. 

The  mineral,  the  moss,  the  flower. 
The  life  with  instinct  fraught, 

All  indicate  a  growing  power 
That  trembles  into  thought. 

Feeling  and  thought  expression  gain 

And  grow  to  perfect  speech  ; 
Philosophy  and  science  reign 
And  still  we  higher  reach. 

Our  life  on  earth  is  incomplete ; 

For  larger  life  we  plead  ; 
Who  made  the  heart,  aspiring,  beat 

Will  answer  to  its  need. 

Beyond  the  bound  of  time  and  space 

A  fairer  world  we  see ; 
Within  the  soul  of  man  we  trace 

The  sign  and  prophecy. 

We  trust  the  Lord  in  faith  serene, 

A  ladder  He  hath  given  ; 
The  lower  rounds  on  earth  are  seen, 

The  higher  reach  to  Heaven. 

Thomas  Brevior 


2S8  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

WEEK   OF   THE   SIXTH  SUNDAY   AFTER 
TRINITY 

MONDAY 

IF  thou  hast  lost  a  friend 
By  hard  or  hasty  word, 
Go  call  him  to  thy  heart  again  ; 

Let  pride  no  more  be  heard. 
Remind  him  of  those  happy  days, 

Too  beautiful  to  last ; 
Ask,  if  a  word  should  cancel  years 

Of  truth  and  friendship  past. 
Oh  !  if  thou'st  lost  a  friend 

By  hard  or  hasty  word, 
Go  call  him  to  thy  heart  again  ; 

Let  pride  no  more  be  heard. 

Oh  !  tell  him,  from  thy  thought 

The  light  of  joy  hath  fled  ; 
That,  in  thy  sad  and  silent  breast. 

Thy  lonely  heart  seems  dead  : 
That  mount  and  vale,  each  path  ye  trod 

By  morn  or  evening  dim, 
Reproach  you  with  their  frowning  gaze, 

And  ask  your  soul  for  him. 
Then,  if  thou'st  lost  a  friend 

By  hard  or  hasty  word. 
Go  call  him  to  thy  heart  again  ; 

Let  pride  no  more  be  heard. 

Charles  Swain 


SIXTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     259 


TUESDAY 

LET  me  count  my  treasures 
All  my  soul  holds  dear, 
Given  me  by  dark  spirits 
Whom  I  used  to  fear. 

Through  long  days  of  anguish, 

And  sad  nights,  did  Pain 
Forge  my  shield,  Endurance, 

Bright  and  free  from  stain  ! 

Doubt,  in  misty  caverns, 

'Mid  dark  horrors  sought, 
Till  my  peerless  jewel, 

Faith  to  me  she  brought. 

Sorrow,  that  I  wearied 

Should  remain  so  long, 
Wreathed  my  starry  glory. 

The  bright  Crown  of  Song. 

Strife,  that  racked  my  spirit 

Without  hope  or  rest. 
Left  the  blooming  flower. 

Patience,  on  my  breast. 

Suffering,  that  I  dreaded, 

Ignorant  of  her  charms. 
Laid  the  fair  child.  Pity, 

Smiling,  in  my  arms. 

So  I  count  my  treasures. 
Stored  in  days  long  past — 

And  I  thank  the  givers. 
Whom  I  know  at  last ! 

Adelaide  Anne  Procter 


26o  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 


WEDNESDAY 

FOND  heart,  when  learnest  thou  to  say, 
I  love  not  pomps  that  fade  away 
Nor  glories  that  decay  and  wane, 
Nor  lights  that  rise  to  set  again  ? 
When  wilt  thou  turn  where  Abraham  turned, 
And  learn  the  lesson  Abraham  learned  ? 
Beyond  the  river  while  he  dwelt. 
He  with  his  kin  to  idols  knelt, 
And  nightly  gazing  on  the  sky. 
Worshipped  the  starry  host  on  high. 
But  when  he  saw  their  splendours  fail. 
And  that  bright  multitude  grow  pale. 
He  left  them  and  adored  the  moon  ; 
But  she  too  wanly  waned  soon. 
Baffled,  he  knelt  unto  the  sun ; 
But  when  his  race  of  light  was  done, 
He  cried  "  To  such  no  vows  I  bring — 
I  worship  not  the  perishing  ! " 
And  turned  him  to  the  God  Whose  hand 
Made  sun,  and  moon,  and  starry  band — 
An  everlasting  Light,  in  Whom 
Decrease  and  shadow  find  no  room. 

Richard  Chenevix  Trench 


THURSDAY 

WHERE  then  shall  hope  and  fear  their  objects 
find? 
Must  dull  suspense  corrupt  the  stagnant  mind  ? 
Must  helpless  man,  in  ignorance  sedate, 
Roll  darkling  down  the  torrent  of  his  fate  ? 
Must  no  dislike  alarm,  no  wishes  rise. 
No  cries  invoke  the  mercies  of  the  skies  ? 


SIXTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     261 

Inquirer  cease  !  petitions  yet  remain 

Which   Heaven    may    hear,    nor    deem   religion 

vain. 
Still  raise,  for  good,  the  supplicating  voice, 
But  leave  to  Heaven  the  measure  and  the  choice  ; 
Safe  in  His  power,  Whose  eyes  discern  afar 
The  secret  ambush  of  a  specious  prayer. 
Implore  His  aid  ;  in  His  decisions  rest 
Secure  :  whate'er  He  gives.  He  gives  the  best ; 
Yet,  when  the  sense  of  sacred  presence  fires, 
And  strong  devotion  to  the  skies  aspires. 
Pour  forth  thy  fervours  for  a  peaceful  mind. 
Obedient  passions  and  a  will  resign'd ; 
For  love,  which  scarce  collective  man  can  fill ; 
For  patience,  sovereign  o'er  transmuted  ill ; 
For  faith,  that,  panting  for  a  happier  seat. 
Counts  death  kind  nature's  signal  for  retreat ; — 
These  goods  for  man  the  laws  of  Heaven  ordain ; 
These  goods  He  grants.  Who  grants  the  means  to 

gain; 
With  these  celestial  wisdom  calms  the  mind, 
And  makes  the  happiness  she  does  not  find. 

Samuel  Johnson 


FRIDAY 

I  WALK  as  one  who  knows  that  he  is  treading 
A  stranger-soil ; 
As  one  round  whom  a  serpent-world  is  spreading 
Its  subtle  coil. 


I  walk  as  one  but  yesterday  deliver'd 
From  a  sharp  chain  ; 

Who  trembles  lest  the  bond  so  newly  sever'd 
Be  bound  again. 


262   CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

I  walk  as  one  who  feels  that  he  is  breathing 

Ungenial  air ; 
For  whom  as  wiles,  the  tempter  still  is  wreathing 

The  bright  and  fair. 

My  steps,  I  know,  are  on  the  plains  of  danger, 

For  sin  is  near ; 
But  looking  up,  I  pass  along,  a  stranger, 

In  haste  and  fear. 

This  earth  has  lost  its  power  to  drag  me  downward  ; 

Its  spell  is  gone ; 
My  course  is  now  right  upward,  and  right  onward, 

To  yonder  Throne. 

Hour  after  hour  of  time's  dark  night  is  stealing 

In  gloom  away ; 
Speed  Thy  fair  dawn  of  light  and  joy  and  healing. 

Thou  Star  of  day  ! 

For  thee  its  God,  its  King,  the  long-rejected, 
Earth  groans  and  cries ; 

For  Thee  the  long  beloved,  the  long  expected. 
Thy  bride  still  sighs  ! 

HORATIUS  BONAR 


SATURDAY 

THIS  is  true  glory  and  renown,  when  God, 
Looking  on  the  earth,  with  approbation  marks 
The  just  man,  and  divulges  him  through  Heaven 
To  all  His  Angels,  who  with  true  applause 
Recount  his  praises  :  thus  He  did  to  Job, 
Who  famous  was  in  Heaven,  on  earth  less  known ; 
Where  glory  is  false  glory,  attributed 
To  things  not  glorious,  men  not  worthy  of  fame. 


SEVENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY    263 

They  err  who  count  it  glorious  to  subdue 
By  conquest  far  and  wide,  to  over-run 
Large  countries,  and  in  field  great  battles  win, 
Great  cities  by  assault :  what  do  these  worthies, 
But  rob  and  spoil,  burn,  slaughter,  and  enslave 
Peaceable  nations,  neighbouring  or  remote, 
Made  captive,  yet  deserving  freedom  more 
Than  those  their  conquerors,  who  leave  behind 
Nothing  but  ruin  wheresoe'er  they  rove, 
And  all  the  flourishing  arts  of  peace  destroy. 
But  if  there  be  in  glory  aught  of  good, 
It  may  by  means  far  different  be  attain'd. 
Without  ambition,  war,  or  violence ; 
By  deeds  of  peace,  by  wisdom  eminent, 
By  patience,  temperance. 

John  Milton 


THE  SEVENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER 
TRINITY 

SEE  the  rivers  flowing 
Downwards  to  the  sea, 
Pouring  all  their  treasures 

Bountiful  and  free — 
Yet  to  help  their  giving 
Hidden  springs  arise ; 
Or,  if  need  be,  showers 
Feed  them  from  the  skies. 

Watch  the  princely  flowers 
Their  rich  fragrance  spread, 

Load  the  air  with  perfumes 
From  their  beauty  shed — 


264  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Yet  their  lavish  spending 
Leaves  them  not  in  dearth, 

With  fresh  Hfe  replenished 
By  their  mother  earth. 

Give  thy  heart's  best  treasures — 

From  fair  Nature  learn  ; 
Give  thy  love — and,  ask  not, 

Wait  not  a  return  ! 
And  the  more  thou  spendest 

From  thy  little  store, 
With  a  double  bounty, 

God  will  give  thee  more. 

Adelaide  Anne  Procter 


WEEK  OF  THE  SEVENTH  SUNDAY 
AFTER  TRINITY 

MONDAY 

THOUSANDS  completely  fed 
With  a  few  loaves  of  bread 
Such  as  would  barely  form  one  household's  fare, 
And,  when  the  feast  was  o'er, 
The  fragments  were  a  store 
Enough  for  needy  hundreds  still  to  share. 

What  was  the  Power  that  wrought 

This  wonder  passing  thought  ? 
What  but  that  Word  Divine,  which  called  of  yore 

Systems  and  suns  to  grace 

The  mighty  realms  of  space, 
And  then  with  life  and  beauty  spread  them  o'er? 


SEVENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY    265 

God  only  can  create  ; 
None  less  could  arrogate 
The  power  to  sway  all  Nature  with  a  nod  : 
O  Christ  !  be  Thou  adored,— 
For  that  creative  word 
Which  blessed  the  bread  was  God's, — and  Thou 
art  God  ! 

Joseph  H.  Clinch 


TUESDAY 

LIFE,  believe,  is  not  a  dream 
So  dark  as  sages  say ; 
Oft  a  little  morning  rain 

Foretells  a  pleasant  day. 
Sometimes  there  are  clouds  of  gloom, 

But  these  are  transient  all ; 
If  the  shower  will  make  the  roses  bloom 
O  why  lament  its  fall  ? 

Rapidly,  merrily. 
Life's  sunny  hours  flit  by, 

Gratefully,  cheerily, 
Enjoy  them  as  they  fly ! 

What  though  Death  at  times  steps  in, 

And  calls  our  Best  away  ? 
What  though  Sorrow  seems  to  win, 

O'er  Hope,  a  heavy  sway  ? 
Yet  Hope  again  elastic  springs, 

Unconquered,  though  she  fell ; 
Still  buoyant  are  her  golden  wings, 

Still  strong  to  bear  us  well. 
Manfully,  fearlessly. 

The  day  of  trial  bear, 


266  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

For  gloriously,  victoriously, 
Can  courage  quell  despair  ! 

Charlotte  Bronte 


WEDNESDAY 

O  NATURE  !  all  thy  seasons  please  the  eye 
Of  him  who  sees  a  Deity  in  all. 
It  is  His  Presence  that  diffuses  charms 
Unspeakable,  o'er  mountain,  wood,  and  stream. 
To    think    that    He,    Who    hears    the    heavenly 

choirs. 
Hearkens  complacent  to  the  woodland  song ; — 
To  think  that  He,  Who  rolls  yon  solar  sphere. 
Uplifts  the  warbling  songster  to  the  sky ; 
To  mark  His  Presence  in  the  mighty  bow 
That  spans  the  clouds,  as  in  the  tints  minute 
Of  tiniest  flower,  to  hear  His  awful  Voice 
In  thunder  speak,  and  whisper  in  the  gale ; 
To  know,  and  feel  His  care  for  all  that  lives ; — 
'Tis  this  that  makes  the  barren  waste  appear 
A  fruitful  field,  each  grove  a  paradise. 
Yes  !    place    me     'mid     far-stretching     woodless 

wilds. 
Where  no  sweet  song   is   heard ;   the   heath-bell 

there. 
Would  soothe  my  weary  sight,  and  tell  of  Thee ! 
There  would  my  gratefully  uplifted  eye 
Survey  the  heavenly  vault  by  day, — by  night, 
When  glows  the  firmament  from  pole  to  pole ; 
There  would  my  overflowing  heart  exclaim, 
"  The  heavens  declare  the  glory  of  the  Lord, 
The  firmament  shows  forth  His  handiwork ! " 

James  Grahame 


SEVENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY    267 


THURSDAY 

I  WALKED  the  fields  at  morning's  prime, 
The  grass  was  ripe  for  mowing ; 
The  skylark  sang  his  matin  chime, 
And  all  was  brightly  glowing. 

"  And  thus,"  I  cried,  "  the  ardent  boy, 

His  pulse  with  rapture  beating, 
Deems  life's  inheritance  is  joy — 

The  future  proudly  greeting." 

I  wandered  forth  at  noon  : — Alas  ! 

On  earth's  maternal  bosom 
The  scythe  had  left  the  withering  grass, 

And  stretched  the  fading  blossom. 

And  thus,  I  thought  with  many  a  sigh. 

The  hopes  we  fondly  cherish, 
Like  flowers  which  blossom  but  to  die. 

Seem  only  born  to  perish. 

Once  more,  at  eve,  abroad  I  strayed, 
Through  lonely  hay-fields  musing, 

While  every  breeze  that  round  me  played, 
Rich  fragrance  was  diffusing. 

The  perfumed  air,  the  hush  of  eve, 

To  purer  hopes  appealing. 
O'er  thoughts  perchance  too  prone  to  grieve, 

Scattered  the  balm  of  healing. 

For  thus  "  the  actions  of  the  just," 
When  memory  hath  enshrined  them, 


268  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

E'en  from  the  dark  and  silent  dust 
Their  odour  leave  behind  them. 

Bernard  Barton 


FRIDAY 

WE  cannot  stay,  said  the  winter  stars  ; 
We  shall  set  to-night,  to-morrow  to  rise 
Upon  other  worlds  and  other  eyes  : 

Gaze  fondly  and  well  on  our  glorious  light, 
For  our  silver  lamps  must  go  out  to-night : 

We  cannot  stay. 

We  are  hurrying  on  from  our  mother  hills, 
Said  the  little  springs  ;  we  shall  soon  be  gone : 
Drink  a  long  draught  as  we  hurry  on ; 

With  the  falling  eve  we  shall  join  the  river, 
To-morrow  be  lost  in  the  sea  for  ever : 

We  cannot  stay. 

We  cannot  stay,  said  my  petted  flowers ; 
Gay  tendrils  next  year  shall  cover  your  door, 
But  we  shall  have  fled  to  bloom  no  more  : 
Go,  gather  some  leaves  to  keep  for  our  sake, 
For  next  year  there  shall  be  no  leaves  to  take  : 

We  cannot  stay. 

I  follow  those  stars,  said  a  dying  child ; 
And  all  my  hopes,  said  I,  follow  those  waves. 
And   they  sleep  like   those   flowers  in  perfumed 
graves ; 
And  I  heard  them  sing  as  I  saw  them  flee, 
There's  a  brighter  world  for  us,  and  for  thee  : 

We  cannot  stay. 


SEVENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY    269 

Changing  friends  of  a  changing  world, 

Keep  heart ! — we  may  love  what  we  have  loved 

best 
In  a  changeless  world,  where  all  are  blest ; 
Where  only  the  sorrows  that  make  us  mourn, 
And  only  our  sighs  shall  sigh  in  their  turn : 

We  cannot  stay. 
John  Emmet 


SATURDAY 

VIEW  not  forms  with  heedless  scorn  ; 
These  are  but  the  seemly  dress. 
Holy  feast-time  to  express, 
And  the  bride  of  Christ  adorn. 

Forms  are  fetters,  wrong  entwined ; 
But,  to  those  who  rightly  wear, 
Girdle  that  sustaineth  prayer, 

Due  compression  to  the  mind. 

Forms  are  helps  to  infant  speech, 

Aiding  it  to  go  alone  ; 

Strength  at  times  to  minds  full-grown, 
When  too  weak  their  aim  to  reach. 

Forms  are  rules,  by  which  to  tame 

Zeal  into  decorous  mood  ; 

Bonds  of  ancient  brotherhood, 
Binding  those  who  said  the  same. 

Forms  supply  the  humble  tale, 

Easy  to  repentant  sin  ; 

Faith,  when  near  the  crown  to  win, 
Words  obtains,  when  others  fail. 


270  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Forms  afford  the  means  to  hush, 

Through  devotion,  others'  care  ; 
Yielding  him  a  ready  prayer, 

Who  himself  to  pray  would  blush. 


Who  may  e'er  'gainst  forms  inveigh, 

As  unmeet  or  insincere. 

When  he  thinks,  how  Christ,  when  here, 
Taught  us,  by  a  form,  to  pray  ? 

Lord  Kinloch 


THE  EIGHTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY 


L 


OVE  hath  taught  me  to  obey 

All  His  precepts,  and  to  say. 
Not  to-morrow,  but  to-day." 


What  He  wills,  I  say,  "  I  must " ; 
What  I  must,  I  say,  "  I  will"; 
He  commanding,  it  is  just, 
What  He  would,  I  should  fulfil ; 
Whilst  He  biddeth,  I  believe ; 
What  He  calls  for.  He  will  give  ; 
To  obey  Him  is — to  live. 

His  commandments  grievous  are  not 
Longer  than  men  think  them  so ; 
Though  He  send  me  forth,  I  care  not, 
Whilst  He  gives  me  strength  to  goe. 
When  or  whither,  all  is  one ; 
On  His  bus'nesse,  not  mine  owne 
I  shall  never  goe  alone. 


EIGHTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     271 

If  I  be  compleat  in  Him, — 

And  in  Him  all  fulnesse  dwelleth, — 

I  am  sure  aloft  to  swim 

Whilst  that  ocean  overswelleth ; 

Having  Him  that  is  All  in  All, 

I  am  confident  I  shall 

Nothing  want  for  which  I  call. 

Christopher  Harvey 


WEEK  OF  THE  EIGHTH  SUNDAY  AFTER 
TRINITY 

MONDAY 

TEACH  me,  my  God  and  King, 
In  all  things  Thee  to  see. 
And  what  I  do  in  anything, 
To  do  it  as  for  Thee : 

Not  rudely,  as  a  beast 

To  runne  into  an  action ; 
But  still  to  make  Thee  prepossest, 

And  give  it  his  perfection. 

A  man  that  looks  on  glasse 

On  it  may  stay  his  eye ) 
Or  if  he  pleaseth,  thro'  it  passe 

And  then  the  heav'n  espie. 

All  may  of  Thee  partake ; 

Nothing  can  be  so  mean. 
Which  with  his  tincture  (for  Thy  sake) 

Will  not  grow  bright  and  clean. 


2  72  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

A  servant  with  this  clause 

Makes  drudgerie  divine : 
Who  sweeps  a  room,  as  for  Thy  laws, 

Makes  that  and  th'  action  fine. 

This  is  the  famous  stone 

That  turneth  all  to  gold  : 
For  that  which  God  doth  touch  and  own 

Cannot  for  lesse  be  told. 

George  Herbert 


TUESDAY 

IF  Solomon  for  wisdom  prayed, 
The  Lord  before  had  made  him  wise ; 
Else  he  another  choice  had  made 

And  asked  for  what  the  worldlings  prize. 

Thus  He  invites  His  people  still ; 

He  first  instructs  them  how  to  choose. 
Then  bids  them  ask  whate'er  they  will, 

Assured  that  He  will  not  refuse. 

Our  wishes  would  our  ruin  prove. 

Could  we  our  wretched  choice  obtain. 

Before  we  feel  the  Saviour's  love 
Kindle  our  love  to  Him  again. 

But  when  our  hearts  perceive  His  worth, 
Desires,  till  then  unknown,  take  place ; 
Our  spirits  cleave  no  more  to  earth, 
But  pant  for  holiness  and  grace. 

And  dost  Thou  say,  "  Ask  what  thou  wilt "  ? 

Lord,  I  would  seize  the  golden  hour, — 
I  pray  to  be  released  from  guilt. 

And  freed  from  sin  and  Satan's  power. 


EIGHTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     273 

More  of  Thy  presence,  Lord,  impart ; 

More  of  Thy  image  let  me  bear  ; 
Erect  Thy  throne  within  my  heart 

And  reign  without  a  rival  there. 

John  Newton 


WEDNESDAY 

IN  silence  mighty  things  are  wrought — 
Silently  builded,  thought  on  thought, 
Truth's  temple  greets  the  sky ; 
And  like  a  citadel  with  towers, 
The  soul  with  her  subservient  powers 
Is  strengthened  silently. 


Soundless  as  chariots  on  the  snow 
The  saplings  of  the  forest  grow 

To  trees  of  mighty  girth  ; 
Each  nightly  star  in  silence  burns, 
And  every  day  in  silence  turns 

The  axle  of  the  earth. 


The  silent  frost  with  mighty  hand 
Fetters  the  rivers  and  the  land 

With  universal  chain  ; 
And,  smitten  by  the  silent  sun, 
The  chain  is  loosed,  the  rivers  run. 

The  lands  are  free  again. 

O  Source  unseen  of  hfe  and  light, 
Thy  secrecy  of  silent  might 
If  we  in  bondage  know. 


2  74  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Our  hearts,  like  seeds  beneath  the  ground, 
By  silent  force  of  life  unbound, 
Move  upward  from  below. 

Thomas  Toke  Lynch 


THURSDAY 

THIS  did  not  once  so  trouble  me, 
That  better  I  could  not  love  Thee, 
But  now  I  feel  and  know 
That  only  when  we  love,  we  find 
How  far  our  hearts  remain  behind 
The  love  they  should  bestow. 

While  we  had  little  care  to  call 

On  Thee,  and  scarcely  prayed  at  all. 

We  seemed  enough  to  pray  : 
But  now  we  only  think  with  shame. 
How  seldom  to  Thy  glorious  Name 

Our  lips  their  offerings  pay. 

And  when  we  gave  yet  slighter  heed 
Unto  our  brother's  suffering  need. 

Our  hearts  reproached  us  then 
Not  half  so  much  as  now,  that  we 
With  such  a  careless  eye  can  see 

The  woes  and  wants  of  men. 

In  doing  is  this  knowledge  won, 
To  see  what  yet  remains  undone  ; 

With  this  our  pride  repress. 
And  give  us  grace,  a  growing  store. 
That  day  by  day  we  may  do  more. 
And  may  esteem  it  less. 

Richard  Chenevix  Trench 


EIGHTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     275 


FRIDAY 

I  WOULD  not  ask  Thee  that  my  days 
Should  flow  quite  smoothly  on  and  on : 
Lest  I  should  learn  to  love  the  world 
Too  well,  ere  all  my  time  was  done. 

I  would  not  ask  Thee  that  my  work 
Should  never  bring  me  pain  nor  fear ; 

Lest  I  should  learn  to  work  alone, 
And  never  wish  Thy  presence  near. 

I  would  not  ask  Thee  that  my  friends 
Should  always  kind  and  constant  be  : 

Lest  I  should  learn  to  lay  my  faith. 
In  them  alone  and  not  in  Thee. 

But  I  would  ask  Thee  still  to  give, 
By  night  my  sleep — by  day  my  bread, 

And  that  the  counsel  of  Thy  Word, 

Should  shine  and  show  the  path  to  tread. 

And  I  would  ask  a  humble  heart, 
A  changeless  will  to  work  and  wake, 

A  firm  faith  in  Thy  Providence, 

The  rest — 'tis  Thine  to  give  or  take. 

Alfred  Norris 


SATURDAY 

STILL   evermore  for   some  great   strength  we 
pray. 
Seeking  and  yearning  for  it  day  by  day ; 
A  strength  whereon  undoubting  we  may  lean, 
And  find  that  rest  we  have  but  dimly  seen. 

To  lean  our  heart  upon  another  heart, 

In  love  that  neither  life  nor  death  can  part ; 


2  76  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

So  seek  we  still  to  end  our  life-long  quest, 
For  only  in  true  love  we  find  true  rest. 

That  love  which  makes  another's  life  our  own, 
And  tunes  our  jarring  natures  to  one  tone  ; 
The  filling  up  of  all  we've  sought  so  long ; 
For  leaning  on  itself  no  strength  is  strong. 

No  love  is  perfect  here,  it  leads  us  on 
To  love's  great  source — the  Uncreated  One ; 
Most  true  is  that  through  which  we  learn  to  see 
Most  of  Thy  strength,  and  most,  O  Lord,  of  Thee. 

Which  sees,  in  all  its  happiness  and  bliss, 
The  promise  of  a  joy  more  great  than  this ; 
Which  seeks  its  perfectness  for  evermore. 
In  the  love-light  that  gilds  the  happy  shore. 

O  strength,  O  love  and  rest,  the  light  that  steals 
From  the  pure  sunshine  of  those  golden  fields  ! 
Faint  rays  we  catch  e'en  now  upon  our  way. 
Lighting  our  footsteps  to  the  land  of  day. 

Thou  art  the  light,  the  sunshine  is  from  Thee ; 
And  in  Thy  heart  is  strength  and  purity ; 
There  lean  our  weary  hearts,  there  ends  our  quest. 
For  there  is  perfect  love  and  perfect  rest. 

L.  R. 


THE  NINTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY 


W 


E  seek  a  land  of  more  delight 

Than  aught  that  promised  Canaan  gave  ; 
We  have  escaped  from  sin's  dark  grave, 
Have  passed  the  pure  Baptismal  wave ; 
Christ  leads  us  on  by  day  and  night. 
The  Bread,  that  feeds  our  weariness. 


NINTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     277 

The  Rock,  that,  in  the  wilderness, 
Still  gushes  pure  and  free  to  bless 
Our  souls  with  spiritual  might. 

We  must  not  be  Hke  Israel's  band, 

Who  tempted  God  by  deed  and  thought, 
Who  scorned  the  Law  His  Prophet  taught. 
Who  loathed  the  precious  food  he  brought. 

And  wished  again  for  Egypt's  land ; 
His  Holy  Faith  they  would  not  hold, 
But  loved  the  tales  the  Heathen  told, 
And  made  them  idol  Gods  of  gold. 

Provoking  His  Almighty  hand. 

These  things  are  our  examples,  given, 
That  we,  who  walk  in  brighter  day. 
May  hold  our  Faith  more  pure  than  they ; 
Nor  in  this  bad  world  go  astray 

To  sin,  by  evil  passions  driven ; 

Till  He,  Whom  type  and  lay  foretold 
In  mystic  signs  and  songs  of  old. 
Shall  lead  us  o'er  life's  dreary  wold. 

Safe  to  our  happy  home  in  Heaven. 

Cecil  Frances  Alexander 


WEEK  OF  THE  NINTH  SUNDAY  AFTER 
TRINITY 

MONDAY 

THE  child  leans  on  its  parent's  breast. 
Leaves  there  its  cares,  and  is  at  rest ; 
The  bird  sits  singing  by  its  nest, 

And  tells  aloud 
His  trust  in  God,  and  so  is  blest 

'Neath  every  cloud. 


278  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

He  has  no  store,  he  sows  no  seed ; 
Yet  sings  aloud,  and  doth  not  heed ; 
By  flowing  stream  or  grassy  mead, 

He  sings  to  shame 
Men,  who  forget,  in  fear  of  need, 

A  Father's  name. 

The  heart  that  trusts  for  ever  sings, 
And  feels  as  light  as  it  had  wings ; 
A  well  of  peace  within  it  springs  : 

Come  good,  or  ill, 
Whate'er  to-day,  to-morrow  brings, 
It  is  His  will. 
Isaac  Williams 


TUESDAY 

HOW  happy  is  he  born  and  taught, 
That  serveth  not  another's  will ; 
Whose  armour  is  his  honest  thought, 
And  simple  truth  his  utmost  skill ! 

Whose  passions  not  his  masters  are, 
Whose  soul  is  still  prepared  for  death. 
Not  tied  unto  the  world  by  care 
Of  public  fame,  or  private  breath. 

Who  envies  none  whom  chance  doth  raise, 
Or  vice;  who  never  understood 
How  deepest  wounds  are  given  by  praise ; 
Nor  rules  of  state,  but  rules  of  good  ; 

Who  hath  his  life  from  rumours  freed. 
Whose  conscience  is  his  strong  retreat ; 
Whose  state  can  neither  flatterers  feed. 
Nor  ruin  make  oppressors  great ; 


NINTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     279 

Who  God  doth  late  and  early  pray, 
More  of  His  grace  than  gifts  to  lend  ; 
And  entertains  the  harmless  day 
With  a  religious  book,  or  friend ; 

This  man  is  freed  from  servile  bands 
Of  hope  to  rise,  or  fear  to  fall ; 
Lord  of  himself,  though  not  of  lands  ; 
And;  having  nothing,  yet  hath  all. 

Sir  Henry  Wotton 


WEDNESDAY 

WHY  throbs  this  breast  ?     Why  heave  these 
piteous  sighs  ? 
Say,  doubting  heart,  why  do  such  fears  arise  ? 
Hast  thou  forgotten  One,  Whose  loving  power 
Is  strong  to  save  in  sorrow's  saddest  hour  ? 

Oh  !  when  cast  down,  remember  days  gone  by, 
When  earthly  comforts  failed,  but  He  was  nigh  ! 
Remember  how  He  stayed  thy  falling  tears. 
Subdued  the  storm,  and  drove  away  thy  fears. 

And  now  again.  He  says  to  thee,  "  Be  still, 
For  I  am  God — thy  God — and  ever  will ; 
Though  dark  to  thee,  yet  all  My  ways  are  just. 
And,  where  thou  seest  not,  believe  and  trust. 

"  A  little  while,  and  all  these  clouds  shall  pass ; 
Then  thou  no  more  shalt  see  through  earth's  dark 

glass, 
But  face  to  face  ;  hereafter  thou  shalt  know 
That  out  of  love  I  sent  thee  that  brief  woe." 


28o  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Then,  Lord,  whatever  seemeth  good  to  Thee — 
Bitter  or  sweet — let  it  be  done  to  me ; 
And  should'st  Thou  bid  each  earthly  stay  be  gone, 
Oh  !  give  me  grace  to  say,  "  Thy  Will  be  done." 

C.  H.  I. 

THURSDAY 

LONG  have  I  view'd,  long  have  I  thought, 
And   held   with    trembling    hand   this 
bitter  draught : 
'Twas  now  just  to  my  lips  applied  ; 
Nature  shrank  in,  and  all  my  courage  died. 

But  now  resolved  and  firm  I'll  be. 
Since,  Lord,  'tis  mingled,  and  reach'd  out  by  Thee. 

Since  'tis  Thy  sentence  I  should  part 
With  the  most  precious  treasure  of  my  heart, 

I  freely  that  and  more  resign  ; 
My  heart  itself,  as  its  delight,  is  Thine  ; 

My  little  all  I  give  to  Thee— 
Thou  gav'st  a  greater  gift,  Thy  Son,  to  me. 

He  left  true  bliss  and  joys  above. 
Himself  He  emptied  of  all  good,  but  love  ; 

For  me  He  freely  did  forsake 
More  good  than  He  from  me  can  ever  take. 

A  mortal  life  for  a  divine 
He  took,  and  did  at  last  even  that  resign. 

Take  all,  great  God,  I  will  not  grieve. 
But  still  will  wish  that  I  had  still  to  give. 

I  hear  Thy  voice  ;  Thou  bid'st  me  quit 
My  paradise,  I  bless  and  do  submit. 

I  will  not  murmur  at  Thy  word, 
Nor  beg  Thy  Angel  to  sheath  up  his  sword. 

John  Norris 


NINTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     281 


FRIDAY 

TO  pray  to  God  continually; 
To  learn  to  know  Him  rightfully ; 
To  honour  God  in  Trinity ; 
The  Trinity  in  Unity  ; 
The  Father  in  His  majesty ; 
The  Son  in  His  humanity ; 
The  Holy  Ghost's  benignity ; 
Three  persons  one  in  a  Deity ; 
To  serve  Him  alway  holily ; 
To  ask  Him  all  thing  needfully ; 
To  praise  Him  alway  worthily ; 
To  love  Him  alway  stedfastly ; 
To  dread  Him  alway  fearfully ; 
To  ask  Him  mercy  heartily ; 
To  trust  Him  alway  faithfully ; 
To  obey  Him  alway  willingly ; 
To  abide  Him  alway  patiently ; 
To  thank  Him  alway  thankfully ; 
To  live  here  alway  virtuously ; 
To  use  thy  neighbour  honestly ; 
To  look  for  death  still  presently ; 
To  help  the  poor  in  misery ; 
To  hope  for  heaven's  felicity ; 
To  have  faith,  hope,  and  charity ; 
To  count  this  life  but  vanity ; — 
Be  points  of  Christianity. 

Thomas  Tusser 


SATURDAY 

"  OTAY,  Master,  stay  upon  this  heavenly  hill  \ 

O     A  little  longer,  let  us  linger  still ; 
With  these  two  mighty  ones  of  old  beside. 
Near  to  the  Awful  Presence  still  abide ; 


284  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

WEEK  OF  THE  TENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER 
TRINITY 

MONDAY 

IS  thy  cruse  of  comfort  wasting ?  haste  its  scanty 
drops  to  share, 
And  through  all  the  years  of  famine  thou  shalt 
still  have  drops  to  spare. 

Love  divine  will  fill  thy  storehouse,  or  thy  handful 

still  renew. 
Scanty  fare  for  one  will  often  make  a  royal  feast 

for  two. 

For  the  heart  grows  rich  in  giving ;  all  its  wealth 

is  living  grain ; 
Seeds  which  mildew  in  the  garner,  scattered,  fill 

with  gold  the  plain. 

Is  thy  burden  hard  and  heavy?     Do  thy  steps 

drag  wearily  ? 
Help  to  bear  thy  brother's  burden ;  God  will  bear 

both  it  and  thee. 

Numb  and  weary  on  the  mountains,  wouldst  thou 

sleep  amidst  the  snow  ? 
Chafe  that  frozen  form  beside  thee,  and  together 

both  shall  glow. 

Art  thou  stricken  in  Hfe's  battle?  many  wounded 

round  thee  moan  ; 
Lavish  on  their  wounds   thy  balsams,  and   that 

balm  shall  heal  thine  own. 


TENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     285 

Is  the  heart  a  well  left  empty  ?  none  but  God  its 

void  can  fill ; 
Nothing  but  a  ceaseless  fountain  can  its  ceaseless 

longings  still. 

Is   the  heart   a   living  power?   self-entwined,    its 

strength  sinks  low ; 
It  can  only  live  in  loving;  and,  by  serving,  love 

will  grow. 

Elizabeth  Rundle  Charles 


TUESDAY 

SHOW  me  the  tears,  the  tears  of  tender  love, 
Wept  over  Salem  in  her  evil  day ; 
When  grace  and  righteousness  together  strove, 
And  grace  at  length  to  righteousness  gave  way. 

Dread  hour  of  conflict  between  law  and  love  ! — 
When  not  from  tears  couldst  Thou,  O  Christ, 
refrain ; 

When  grace  went  forth  to  save,  but  like  the  dove, 
Returned  disconsolate,  its  errand  vain. 

Theirs  the  great  woe,  yet  Thine,  O  Lord,  the  deep 
And  awful  anguish  for  their  coming  fears  ; 

Thou  weepedst  because  they  refused  to  weep. 
And  grief  Divine  found  vent  in  human  tears. 

They  closed  the  ear  against  Thy  tender  words ; 
They    chose    another   lord,   and  spurned  Thy 
sway ; 
Thou  wouldst  have  drawn  them,  but  they  snapped 
Thy  cords  ; 
Thou  wouldst  have  blest  them,  but  they  turned 
away. 


286  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Thou  lovedst  them,  but  they  would  not  be  loved, 
And  human  hatred  fought  with  Love  Divine  ; 

They  saw  Thee  shed  the  tears  of  love  unmoved. 
And  mocked  the  grace  that  would  have  made 
them  Thine. 

O  Son  of  God,  Who  camest  from  above 
To  take  my  flesh,  to  bear  my  bitter  cross  ; 

Show  me  Thy  tears,  Thy  tears  of  tender  love, 
That  I  for  Thee  may  count  all  gain  but  loss. 

That  I  may  know  Thee,  and  by  Thee  be  known  ; 

That  I  may  love  Thee,  and  may  taste  Thy  love ; 
That  I  may  win  Thee,  and  in  Thee  a  crown ; 

That  I  may  rest  and  reign  with  Thee  above. 

HORATIUS  BONAR 


WEDNESDAY 

THERE  is  a  dwelling-place  above ; 
Thither  to  meet  the  God  of  love, 
The  poor  in  spirit  go ; 
There  is  a  paradise  of  rest ; 
For  contrite  hearts  and  souls  distrest 
Its  streams  of  comfort  flow. 

There  is  a  goodly  heritage, 

Where  earthly  passions  cease  to  rage ; 

The  meek  that  haven  gain : 
There  is  a  board,  where  they  who  pine, 
Hungry,  athirst,  for  grace  divine. 

May  feast,  nor  crave  again. 

There  is  a  voice  to  mercy  true  ; 
To  them  who  mercy's  path  pursue 

That  voice  shall  bliss  impart ; 


TENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     287 

There  is  a  sight  from  man  concealed ; 
That  sight,  the  face  of  God  revealed, 
Shall  bless  the  pure  in  heart. 

There  is  a  name,  in  Heaven  bestow'd  ; 
That  name,  which  hails  them  sons  of  God, 

The  friends  of  peace  shall  know  : 
There  is  a  Kingdom  in  the  sky. 
Where  they  shall  reign  with  God  on  high, 

Who  serve  Him  best  below. 

Lord  !  be  it  mine  like  them  to  choose 
The  better  part,  like  them  to  use 

The  means  Thy  love  hath  given  ! 
Be  holiness  my  aim  on  earth. 
That  death  be  welcomed  as  a  birth 

To  life  and  bliss  in  Heaven  ! 

Richard  Mant 


THURSDAY 

PRAYER  is  omnipotence  descending,  when 
We  pray  through  Him  Who  died  upon  the 
Tree, 
Pray  through  His  merits  and  His  agony ; 
The  prayer  of  them  who  pray  as  dying  men, 
Who  pray  as  they  who  ne'er  can  pray  again, — 
Such  power  is  mighty  to  bring  down  the  sky 
With  all  that  bright  and  glorious  company  ; 
Which  made  thus  sensible  to  mortal  ken, 
Are  but  the  spiritual  deeds  that  go  before, 
Or  follow  after  to  the  Judgment  door. 
Prayer  hath  the  power  to  draw  them  from  their 

sphere. 
And  bring  them  unto  us  in  spirit  near. 


286  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Thou  lovedst  them,  but  they  would  not  be  loved, 
And  human  hatred  fought  with  Love  Divine  ; 

They  saw  Thee  shed  the  tears  of  love  unmoved, 
And  mocked  the  grace  that  would  have  made 
them  Thine. 

O  Son  of  God,  Who  camest  from  above 
To  take  my  flesh,  to  bear  my  bitter  cross ; 

Show  me  Thy  tears,  Thy  tears  of  tender  love, 
That  I  for  Thee  may  count  all  gain  but  loss. 

That  I  may  know  Thee,  and  by  Thee  be  known  ; 

That  I  may  love  Thee,  and  may  taste  Thy  love ; 
That  I  may  win  Thee,  and  in  Thee  a  crown ; 

That  I  may  rest  and  reign  with  Thee  above. 

HORATIUS  BONAR 


WEDNESDAY 

THERE  is  a  dwelling-place  above ; 
Thither  to  meet  the  God  of  love, 
The  poor  in  spirit  go ; 
There  is  a  paradise  of  rest ; 
For  contrite  hearts  and  souls  distrest 
Its  streams  of  comfort  flow. 

There  is  a  goodly  heritage, 

Where  earthly  passions  cease  to  rage ; 

The  meek  that  haven  gain : 
There  is  a  board,  where  they  who  pine. 
Hungry,  athirst,  for  grace  divine, 

May  feast,  nor  crave  again. 

There  is  a  voice  to  mercy  true  ; 
To  them  who  mercy's  path  pursue 

That  voice  shall  bliss  impart ; 


TENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     287 

There  is  a  sight  from  man  concealed ; 
That  sight,  the  face  of  God  revealed, 
Shall  bless  the  pure  in  heart. 

There  is  a  name,  in  Heaven  bestovv'd  ; 
That  name,  which  hails  them  sons  of  God, 

The  friends  of  peace  shall  know  : 
There  is  a  Kingdom  in  the  sky. 
Where  they  shall  reign  with  God  on  high, 

Who  serve  Him  best  below. 

Lord  !  be  it  mine  like  them  to  choose 
The  better  part,  like  them  to  use 

The  means  Thy  love  hath  given  ! 
Be  holiness  my  aim  on  earth. 
That  death  be  welcomed  as  a  birth 

To  life  and  bliss  in  Heaven  ! 

Richard  Mant 


THURSDAY 

PRAYER  is  omnipotence  descending,  when 
We  pray  through  Him  Who  died  upon  the 
Tree, 
Pray  through  His  merits  and  His  agony ; 
The  prayer  of  them  who  pray  as  dying  men. 
Who  pray  as  they  who  ne'er  can  pray  again, — 
Such  power  is  mighty  to  bring  down  the  sky 
With  all  that  bright  and  glorious  company  ; 
Which  made  thus  sensible  to  mortal  ken, 
Are  but  the  spiritual  deeds  that  go  before, 
Or  follow  after  to  the  Judgment  door. 
Prayer  hath  the  power  to  draw  them  from  their 

sphere, 
And  bring  them  unto  us  in  spirit  near. 


288  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Oh,  if  those  bright  ones  come  on  earth  to  dwell, 
It  is  the  golden  age  which  poets  tell ! 
It  is  in  prayer,  as  at  celestial  springs. 
Those  Virtues  live,  and  breathe  ethereal  air : 
Prayer  brings  on  all  around  Angelic  care ; — 
Prayer  o'er  each  scene  Love's  radiant  halo  flings ; — 
Prayer  spreads  o'er  all  we  love  protecting  wings. 
Makes  all  events  a  cloud-surmounting  stair  : — 
Prayer,  eye-enlightening,  soul-transforming  prayer. 
Hallows   the  Church,  o'er   parents   spreads,    and 

kings, 
Bears  and  is  borne  to  Heaven.     When  monarchs 

call 
On  God  they  build  a  more  than  earthly  wall ; 
The  mother's  prayer,  in  the  calm  midnight  hour. 
Brings  on  her  child  the  moonlight's  silver  shower ; 
And,  at  the  Altar  kneeling,  Christ's  own  poor 
For  worldly  gifts  Heaven's  Kingdom  have  in  store. 

Isaac  Williams 


FRIDAY 

OTHOU,  the  contrite  sinner's  Friend, 
Who  loving,  lov'st  them  to  the  end, 
On  this  alone  my  hopes  depend. 
That  Thou  wilt  plead  for  me  ! 

When,  weary  in  the  Christian  race, 
Far-off  appears  my  resting-place. 
And  fainting  I  mistrust  Thy  grace, 
Then,  Saviour,  plead  for  me  ! 

When  I  have  err'd  and  gone  astray 
Afar  from  Thine  and  Wisdom's  way. 
And  see  no  glimmering  guiding  ray. 
Still,  Saviour,  plead  for  me  ! 


TENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     289 

When  Satan,  by  my  sins  made  bold, 
Strives  from  Thy  Cross  to  loose  my  hold, 
Then  with  Thy  pitying  arms  enfold, 
And  plead,  O  plead  for  me  ! 

And  when  my  dying  hour  draws  near, 
Darken'd  with  anguish,  guilt,  and  fear. 
Then  to  my  fainting  sight  appear. 
Pleading  in  Heaven  for  me  ! 

When  the  full  light  of  heavenly  day 
Reveals  my  sins  in  dread  array, 
Say  Thou  hast  wash'd  them  all  away  ; 
O  say,  Thou  plead'st  for  me  ! 

Charlotte  Elliott 


SATURDAY 

SOWER  Divine ! 
Sow  the  good  seed  in  me, 
Seed  for  eternity. 
'Tis  a  rough  barren  soil. 
Yet  by  Thy  care  and  toil. 
Make  it  a  fruitful  field 
An  hundredfold  to  yield. 
Sower  Divine, 
Plough  up  this  heart  of  mine  ! 

Sower  Divine ! 

Quit  not  this  wretched  field 
Till  Thou  hast  made  it  yield, 
Sow  Thou  by  day  and  night, 
In  darkness  and  in  Hght. 
Stay  not  Thy  hand,  but  sow ; 
Then  shall  the  harvest  grow. 

Sower  Divine, 

Sow  deep  this  heart  of  mine  ! 


290  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Sower  Divine ! 

Let  not  this  barren  clay 
Lead  Thee  to  turn  away ; 
Let  not  my  fruitlessness 
Provoke  Thee  not  to  bless  ; 
Let  not  this  field  be  dry, 
Refresh  it  from  on  high. 

Sower  Divine, 

Water  this  heart  of  mine  ! 

HORATIUS    BONAR 


THE  ELEVENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER 
TRINITY 

TO  Thy  temple,  Lord,  or  table. 
Ne'er  by  me  be  access  sought, 
Save,  as  much  as  I  am  able. 

In  the  temper  Christ  hath  taught. 

Though  in  aspect  all  agree, 
Each  alike  a  Christian  man, 

Here  there  stands  a  Pharisee, 
There  an  humble  PubHcan. 

Lord,  I'd  shun  the  former's  part. 
Fair  though  seen  in  outward  view ; 

Keep  the  other's  lowly  heart ; 
Still,  like  him,  for  mercy  sue. 

Nought  of  pride  I'd  mix  with  praise ; 

Nought  for  boast  in  grace  would  see ; 
Ever  this  the  prayer  I  raise, 

"  God  be  merciful  to  me  ' 


ELEVENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY  291 

All  my  proper  sins  and  faults 

Bending  downwards  I  would  own  ; 

Ne'er  a  thought  which  self  exalts 
Nurse,  by  charge  on  others  thrown. 

Some  a  glance  around  me  scans, 
Far  from  God  who  seem  to  be ; 

Yet,  who  names  them  Publicans, 
Proves  himself  a  Pharisee. 

Nought  I'd  think,  far  less  would  say, 
These  by  contrast  to  condemn ; 

Only  would  I  further  pray, 
"  God  be  merciful  to  them." 

Lord  Kinloch 


WEEK  OF  THE  ELEVENTH  SUNDAY 
AFTER  TRINITY 

MONDAY 

THE  Pharisee  informed  the  Lord 
How  good  a  life  he  led  ; 
The  Publican  shrank  back  in  shame, 

And  smote  his  breast  instead  : 
But  when  the  Lord,  in  tender  love, 

The  penitent  commended, 
The  hypocrite,  with  heart  unchanged. 
Straightway  his  prayer  amended. 

Said  he :  "  The  man  who  says  he's  worst 
Is  by  the  Lord  thought  best  " ; 

So  next  when  he  to  worship  went. 
As  Publican  he  drest. 


292  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

And  smote  upon  his  hollow  heart, 
And  bowed  him  down  and  groaned, 

And,  proud  of  his  humility. 
His  unfelt  sins  he  owned. 

The  Publican,  an  altered  man, 

Came,  too,  with  lifted  head, 
And  joyfully  gave  thanks  to  God 

For  the  new  life  he  led ; 
The  Lord  again  his  offering  took. 

Still  spurned  the  Pharisee's, 
For  sometimes  tears,  and  sometimes  thanks, 

But  only  Truth  can  please. 

Thomas  Toke  Lynch 


TUESDAY 

GOD  never  meant  that  man  should  scale  the 
heavens 
By  strides  of  human  wisdom.     In  His  works, 
Though  wondrous,  He  commands  us  in  His  Word 
To  seek  Him  rather  where  His  mercy  shines. 
The  mind  indeed,  enlighten'd  from  above, 
Views  Him  in  all ;  ascribes  to  the  grand  cause 
The  grand  effect ;  acknov/ledges  with  joy 
His  manner,  and  with  rapture  tastes  His  style. 
And  never  yet  did  philosophic  tube. 
That  brings  the  planets  home  into  the  eye 
Of  observation,  and  discovers,  else 
Not  visible.  His  family  of  worlds, 
Discover  Him  that  rules  them  ;  such  a  veil 
Hangs  over  mortal  eyes,  blind  from  the  birth, 
And  dark  in  things  divine.     Full  often  too 
Our  wayward  intellect,  the  more  we  learn 
Of  nature,  overlooks  her  Author  more, 


ELEVENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY  293 

From  instrumental  causes  proud  to  draw 
Conclusions  retrograde,  and  mad  mistake. 
But  if  His  Word  once  teach  us,  shoot  a  ray 
Through  all  the  heart's  dark  chambers,  and  reveal 
Truths  undiscern'd  but  by  that  holy  light, 
Then  all  is  plain.     Philosophy  baptized 
In  the  pure  fountain  of  eternal  love 
Has  eyes  indeed  ;  and  viewing  all  she  sees, 
As  meant  to  indicate  a  God  to  man, 
Gives  Him  His  praise,  and  forfeits  not  her  own. 

William  Cowper 


WEDNESDAY 

SORE  was  the  famine  throughout  all  the  bou 
Of  Israel,  when  Elijah  by  command 
Of  God,  journeyed  to  Cherith's  faiHng  brook. 
No  raindrop  falls,  no  dew-fraught  cloud  at  morn 
Or  closing  eve,  creeps  slowly  up  the  vale ; 
The  withering  herbage  dies  ;  among  the  palms. 
The  shrivelled  leaves  send  to  the  summer  gale 
An  autumn  rustle  ;  no  sweet  songster's  lay 
Is  warbled  from  the  branches ;  scarce  is  heard 
The  rill's  faint  brawl.     The  prophet  looks  around, 
And  trusts  in  God,  and  lays  his  silvered  head 
Upon  the  flowerless  bank ;  serene  he  sleeps, 
Nor  wakes  till  dawning  :  then  with  hands  enclasp'd 
And  heavenward  face,  and  eyelids  closed,  he  prays 
To  Him  Who  manna  on  the  desert  shower'd. 
To  Him  Who  from  the  rock  made  fountains  gush ; 
Entranced  the  man  of  God  remains ;  till  roused 
By  sound  of  wheeling  wings,  with  grateful  heart, 
He  sees  the  ravens  fearless  by  his  side 
Alight,  and  leave  the  heaven-provided  food. 

James  Grahame 


294  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 


THURSDAY 

CHRISTIAN,  did  no  one,  thinkest  thou,  behold 
thee. 
What  time  thou  faintedst  in  the  noonday  heat  ? 
Heardst  thou  no  Angel's  voice,  which  sweetly  told 
thee, 
"  The  journey  is  too  great ;  arise  and  eat "  ? 

An  Angel's  voice  ?  Nay,  'twas  thy  God  that  spake  it, 
In  sweeter  tones  than  Angel  could  repeat ;' 

Himself  the  Food,  His  own  the  Hands  that  brake  it, 
His  own  the  words  that  bade  thee  "  Rise  and 
eat; 

"This  is  the  Bread  of  Life  which  came  from  Heaven, 
And  now  for  thee  is  on  My  table  spread ; 

This  is  My  Body,  which  for  thee  was  given, 

And  this    My  Blood,  which  for  thy  sins  was 
shed." 

O  fainting,  faltering  wanderer,  art  thou  able 
Still  to  refuse  thy  suppliant  God's  request  ? — 

"  Be  filled,  ye  hungry,  from  My  bounteous  table ; 
And  come,  ye  weary,  I  will  give  you  rest." 

Oh,  may  His  gracious,  oft-urged  invitation 
Subdue  thee  with  its  tones  so  soft  and  sweet ; 

Mayst  thou,  at  length,  with  heartfelt  adoration. 
And  tearful  penitence,  arise  and  eat. 

Another  banquet  is  for  thee  preparing ; 

Another  feast  thy  longing  eyes  shall  greet ; — 
An  Angel's  voice  shall  break  thy  rest,  declaring, 

"  Behold,  all  things  are  ready ;  rise  and  eat ! " 


ELEVENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY  295 


FRIDAY 

THE  voice  of  God  was  mighty,  when  it  brake 
Through  the  deep  stillness  of  chaotic  night, 
Uttering  the  potent  words  "  Let  there  be  light !  " 
And  light  was  kindled  as  th'  Eternal  spake ; 
While  hosts  seraphic  hymned  the  wondrous  plan 
Which  formed  Heaven,  earth,  sun,  sea,  and  crowned 
the  work  with  man. 

The  voice  of  God  was  mighty,  when  it  came 
From  Sinai's  summit,  wrapt  in  midnight  gloom ; 
When  ceaseless  thunders  told  the  sinner's  doom, 
And  answering  lightnings  flash'd  devouring  flame. 
Till  prostrate  Israel  breathed  th'  imploring  cry, 
''  Veil,  Lord,  Thy  terrors ;  cease  Thy  thunders,  or 
we  die ! " 

The  voice  of  God  was  mighty,  when  alone 
Elijah  stood  on  Horeb,  and  the  blast 
Rent  the  huge  mountains  as  Jehovah  passed, 
And  the  earth  quaked  beneath  the  Holy  One : 
When  ceased  the  storm,  the  blast,  the  lightning 
glare. 
And,  but  the  "still  small  voice"  was  heard,  yet 
God  was  there. 

Yet  not  alone  in  thunder  or  in  storm 
The  voice  of  God  was  mighty,  as  it  came 
From  the  lurid  mount,  or  from  the  car  of  flame 
When  stooped  the  Godhead  to  a  mortal  form, 
When  Jesus  came  to  work  His  Father's  will, 
His  was  the  voice  of  God,  and  it  was  mighty  still. 

Thomas  Dale 


^96  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 


SATURDAY 

WHY  dost  thou  heap  up  wealth  which  thou 
must  quit, 
Or,  what  is  worse,  be  left  by  it  ? 
Why  dost  thou  load  thyself  when  thou'rt  to  fly, 
O  man  ordained  to  die  ? 

Why  dost  thou  build  up  stately  rooms  on  high. 
Thou  who  art  underground  to  lie  ? 

Thou  sowest  and  plantest,  but  no  fruit  must  see. 
For  death,  alas  !  is  sowing  thee. 

Suppose  thou  fortune  couldst  to  tameness  bring, 

And  clip  or  pinion  her  wing  ; 
Suppose  thou  couldst  on  fate  so  far  prevail 

As  not  to  cut  off  thy  entail ; 

Yet  death  at  all  that  subtilty  will  laugh  : 
Death  will  that  foolish  gardener  mock 

Who  does  a  slight  and  annual  plant  engraff, 
Upon  a  lasting  stock. 

Thou  dost  thyself  wise  and  industrious  deem ; 

A  mighty  husband  thou  wouldst  seem ; 
Fond  man !  like  a  bought  slave  thou  all  the  while 

Dost  but  for  others  sweat  and  toil. 

O  scene  of  fortune,  which  dost  fair  appear 
Only  to  men  that  stand  not  near ! 

Proud  poverty  that  tinsel  bravery  wears. 
And,  like  a  rainbow,  painted  tears ! 

Be  prudent,  and  the  shore  in  prospect  keep ; 
In  a  weak  boat  trust  not  the  deep  : 


TWELFTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     297 

Placed  beneath  envy,  above  envying  rise ; 
Pity  great  men,  great  things  despise. 

Abraham  Cowley 


THE  TWELFTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY 

"TPIS  not    the  whirlwind,   o'er    our  fair    fields 
A  sweeping 

That  speaks  God's  present  wrath  : 
This  is  but  nature's  course,  for  all  men  keeping 
One  indiscriminate  path. 

Nor  yet  the  earthquake,  firm  foundations  shaking 

Of  houses  long  since  built : 
This  is  but  fortune's  chance,  its  havoc  making, 

Without  affixing  guilt. 

Nor  yet  the  fire,  whate'er  is  near  confounding 

In  blind  remorseless  flame  : 
This  is  but  man's  fierce  ire,  which  all  surrounding 

Treats,  good  or  bad,  the  same. 

It  is  the  still  small  voice  within  which  speaketh, 
When  guilt's  fierce  gust  is  done. 

That     tells    the    doom    God's    righteous     anger 
wreaketh. 
Yet  tells,  that  we  may  shun. 

O  gentle  Lord,  Who  like  a  friend  reprovest, 

Tender  not  less  than  true ; 
Thou    our   hard    hearts   by   whispered    warnings 
movest. 

Their  erring  ways  to  rue. 


298  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Thou,    Whose    pure    eye    like    lightning    might 
consume  him, 
On  man  with  pity  look'st ; 
Thou  Who  to  fire,  storm,  earthquake,  well  might'st 
doom  him. 
With  still  small  voice  rebuk'st. 

Lord  Kinloch 


WEEK  OF  THE  TWELFTH  SUNDAY 
AFTER  TRINITY 

MONDAY 

WOMAN  of  pure  and  heaven-born  fame  ! 
Though  Scripture's  hallow'd  page 
Has  made  no  mention  of  thy  name, 
Thou  liv'st  from  age  to  age  ! 

Thy  labour  of  unwearied  love 

To  soothe  the  prophet's  lot, 
Prompted  by  kindness  from  above. 

Shall  never  be  forgot. 

The  chamber  built  upon  the  wall, 

The  bed  whereon  he  lay, 
Stool,  table,  candlestick,  and  all — 

These  things  endure  for  aye. 

If  humble  was  each  boon  conferred, 

Their  giver  nameless  too. 
The  record  many  a  heart  hath  stirr'd 

Kind  acts  of  love  to  do. 

And  thus  in  human  hearts  to  dwell, 
A  pure  undying  flame. 


TWELFTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY    299 

Is  a  more  glorious  chronicle, 
Than  most  that  boast  a  name. 

For  ne'er  was  brighter  lustre  thrown 

On  path  by  woman  trod, 
Than  hers,  who  dwelt  among  her  own — 

And  cared  for  those  of  God. 

Bernard  Barton 


TUESDAY 

LEAD  us  aside,  we  would  not  ever  stay 
In  pleasure's  gilded  haunts,  but  come  away 
That   we   may  hear   more   clear  Thy  heavenly 
voice  j 
Too  often  we  have  sought  the  world's  false  glare. 
Too  often  shunned  the  solitude  of  prayer, 

And  thrusting  Thee  quite  out,  thought  we  had 
made  a  goodly  choice. 

Perchance  in  some  tremendous  hour 

Thou  wilt  deprive  us  both  of  pride  and  power, 

And  make  us  on  some  tearful  bed  lie  down ; 
Still  Thou  dost  lead  aside,  and  pain  is  sweet 
If  we  but  kiss  Thy  wounded  hands  and  feet. 

And   on   our  pillow  for   companion    have  Thy 
thorny  crown. 

Lead  us  aside,  over  the  holy  dead 

It  may  be  that  we  stand,  and  idly  shed 

Tears  which  both  dim    our  eyes  and  shut  out 
heaven : 
Give  us  to  see  the  Resurrection  Light, 
And,  ere  our  wavering  faith  shall  quite  take  flight. 
To  pray  beside  the  open  grave  that  strength  to 
us  be  given. 


300  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Like  him  of  old  we  come,  O  Lord,  to  Thee, 
Both  deaf  and  dumb  he  was,  and  so  are  we ; 

Good  Master,  now  put  forth  Thy  heahng  Hand ; 
Our  ears,  O  Lord,  unstop,  our  tongues  untie, 
And  make  the  powers  of  ill  and  darkness  fly, 
Before  that  sigh  of  love,  the  Ephphatha  of  Thy 
command. 

William  Chatterton  Dix 


WEDNESDAY 

AH  !  dearest  Lord,  I  cannot  pray, 
My  fancy  is  not  free ; 
Unmannerly  distractions  come. 
And  force  my  thoughts  from  Thee. 

The  world  that  looks  so  dull  all  day, 
Grows  bright  on  me  at  prayer ; 

And  plans  that  ask  no  thought  but  then, 
Wake  up  and  meet  me  there. 

All  nature  one  full  fountain  seems 

Of  dreamy  sight  and  sound. 
Which,  when  I  kneel,  breaks  up  its  deeps, 

And  makes  a  deluge  round. 

Old  voices  murmur  in  my  ear. 

New  hopes  start  into  life, 
And  past  and  future  gaily  blend 

In  one  bewitching  strife. 

Yet  Thou  art  oft  most  present,  Lord, 

In  weak,  distracted  prayer : 
A  sinner  out  of  heart  with  self 

Most  often  finds  Thee  there. 


TWELFTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY    301 

And  prayer  that  humbles,  sets  the  soul 

From  all  illusions  free, 
And  teaches  it  how  utterly 

It  hangs,  dear  Lord,  on  Thee. 

Frederick  William  Faber 


THURSDAY 

COME,  Holy  Spirit,  heav'nly  Dove, 
My  sinful  maladies  remove ; 
Be  Thou  my  Light,  be  Thou  my  Guide, 
O'er  every  thought  and  step  preside. 

The  Light  of  Truth  to  me  display. 
That  I  may  know  and  choose  my  way ; 
Plant  holy  fear  within  my  heart. 
That  I  from  God  may  ne'er  depart. 

Conduct  me  safe,  conduct  me  far 
From  every  sin  and  hurtful  snare  ; 
Lead  me  to  God,  my  final  Rest, 
In  His  employment  to  be  blest. 

Lead  me  to  Christ,  the  Living  Way, 
Nor  let  me  from  His  pastures  stray  ; 
Lead  me  to  Heav'n,  the  seat  of  bhss. 
Where  pleasure  in  perfection  is. 

Lead  me  to  holiness,  the  road 
That  I  must  take  to  dwell  with  God ; 
Lead  to  Thy  Word,  that  rules  must  give 
And  sure  directions  how  to  live. 

Lead  me  to  means  of  grace,  where  I 
May  own  my  wants,  and  seek  supply ; 


;o2  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Lead  to  Thyself,  the  Spring  from  whence 
To  fetch  all  quick'ning  influence. 

Thus  I,  conducted  still  by  Thee, 
Of  God  a  child  beloved  shall  be ; 
Here  to  His  family  pertain. 
Hereafter  with  Him  ever  reign. 

Simon  Browne 


FRIDAY 

MY  Maker !  of  Thy  power  the  trace 
In  every  creature's  form  and  face 
The  wond'ring  soul  surveys  : 
Thy  wisdom,  infinite  above 
Seraphic  thought,  a  Father's  love 
As  infinite  displays  ! 

From  all  that  meets  or  eye  or  ear, 
There  falls  a  genial  holy  fear 
Which,  like  the  heavy  dew  of  morn, 
Refreshes  while  it  bows  the  heart  forlorn  ! 

Great  God  !  Thy  works  are  wondrous  fair ! 
Yet  sinful  man  didst  Thou  declare 

The  whole  Earth's  voice  and  mind  ! 
Lord,  ev'n  as  Thou  all-present  art, 
O  may  we  still  with  heedful  heart 

Thy  presence  know  and  find  ! 
Then,  come  what  will  of  weal  or  woe, 
Joy's  bosom-spring  shall  steady  flow ; 
For  though  'tis  Heaven  Thyself  to  see. 
Where  but  Thy  shadow  falls,  grief  cannot  be  ! 

S.  T.  Coleridge 


TWELFTH  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     303 


SATURDAY 

TRUE  honour  bides  at  home,  and  takes  delight 
In  keeping,  not  in  gaining,  of  a  right ; 
Scorns  usurpation,  nor  seeks  she  blood, 
And  thirsts  to  make  her  name  not  great,  as  good  : 
God  gives  a  right  to  man  ;  to  man,  defence 
To  guard  it  given  ;  but  when  a  false  pretence 
Shall  ground  her  title  on  a  greater  might, 
What  doth  he  else  but  war  with  Heav'n,  and  fight 
With  Providence?     God  sets  the  princely  crown 
On  heads  of  kings ;  who  then  may  take  it  down  ? 
No  juster  quarrel,  or  more  noble  fight. 
Than  to  maintain  where  God  hath  given  a  right  : 
There's  no  despair  of  conquest  in  that  war. 
Where  God's  the  leader :  policy's  no  bar 
To  His  designs  ;  no  power  can  withstand 
His  high  exploits,  within  Whose  mighty  hand 
Are  all  the  corners  of  the  earth  ;  the  hills 
His  fensive  bulwarks  are,  which  when  He  wills, 
His  lesser  breath  can  bandy  up  and  down. 
And  crush  the  world,  and  with  a  wink  can  drown 
The  spacious  universe  in  suds  of  clay  : 
Where   Heav'n  is   leader,    Heav'n   must  win   the 

day; 
God  reaps  His  honour  hence ;  that  combat's  safe 
Where  He's  a  combatant,  and  ventures  half; 
Right's  not  impaired  with  weakness,  but  prevails 
In   spite   of  strength,  when   strength  and   power 

fails : 
Frail  is  the  trust  reposed  in  troops  of  horse ; 
Truth  in  a  handful  finds  a  greater  force. 

Lord,  mail  my  heart  with  faith,  and  be  my  shield, 
And  if  a  world  confront  me,  I'll  not  yield. 

Francis  Quarles 


304  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

THE  THIRTEENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER 
TRINITY 

THY  neighbour?  it  is  he  whom  thou 
Hast  power  to  aid  and  bless, 
Whose  aching  heart  or  burning  brow 
Thy  soothing  hand  may  press. 

Thy  neighbour  ?  'tis  the  fainting  poor, 

Whose  eye  with  want  is  dim, 
Whom  hunger  sends  from  door  to  door — 

Go  thou  and  succour  him. 

Thy  neighbour  ?  'tis  that  weary  man, 

Whose  years  are  at  their  brim, 
Bent  low  with  sickness,  cares,  and  pain — 

Go  thou  and  comfort  him. 

Thy  neighbour  ?  'tis  the  heart  bereft 

Of  every  earthly  gem  ; 
Widow  and  orphan,  helpless  left — 

Go  thou  and  shelter  them. 

Thy  neighbour  ?  yonder  toiling  slave, 

Fettered  in  thought  and  limb. 
Whose  hopes  are  all  beyond  the  grave — 

Go  thou  and  ransom  him. 

Whene'er  thou  meet'st  a  human  lot 

Less  favoured  than  thine  own. 
Ne'er  be  this  truth  by  thee  forgot. 

Thou  dost  not  live  alone. 

Oh,  pass  not,  pass  not  heedlessly ; 

Perhaps  thou  canst  redeem 
The  breaking  heart  from  misery ; 

Go,  share  thy  lot  with  him. 


XIII.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     305 

WEEK  OF  THE  THIRTEENTH  SUNDAY 
AFTER  TRINITY 

MONDAY 

SWORDS  of  fire  around  us  play, 
Shafts  of  flame  around  us  fly ; 
Though  no  lightnings  glare  the  day, 
Though  no  meteor  cross  the  sky. 

In  the  sunniest  summer  noon, 
There  is  war  amidst  the  calm ; 
In  the  loveliest  beaming  moon, 
Adverse  spirits  working  harm. 

Yet  the  intellectual  strife, 
Fierce  and  mighty  as  it  glows, 
Wakes  no  earthly  sound  to  life, 
Nor  moves  the  tresses  of  the  rose. 

Fallen  man  to  slay,  in  soul, 
Is  the  prize  for  which  they  fight ; 
Counter  warriors  onward  roll. 
Demons  dark  and  Angels  bright. 

The  swift  artillery  of  Heaven 
Passes  round  us  every  hour. 
Though  to  man  it  be  not  given 
While  on  earth  to  see  its  power. 

Yet  the  prophet's  servant  saw, 
When  the  Syrian  host  assailed, 
Every  heavenly  warrior. 
And  bright  encampment  all  unveiled. 


3o6  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

And  from  yonder  distant  sky 
All  the  conflict  we  shall  view : 
Turn,  and  see  the  dangers  fly, 
And  praise  the  God  that  led  us  through. 
James  Edmeston 


TUESDAY 

"  T^THO  yonder  on  the  desert  heath, 

V  V       Complains  in  feeble  tone?  " 
"  A  pilgrim  in  the  vale  of  Death, 
Faint,  bleeding  and  alone  ! " 

"  How  cam'st  thou  to  this  dismal  strand 
Of  danger,  grief,  and  shame  ?  " 
"From  blessed  Zion's  holy  land. 
By  Folly  led,  I  came  !  " 

"What  ruffian  hand  hath  stript  thee  bare? 
Whose  fury  laid  thee  low  ?  " 
"Sin  for  my  footsteps  twined  her  snare, 
And  Death  has  dealt  the  blow  !  " 

"  Can  art  no  medicine  for  thy  wound, 
Nor  nature  strength  supply  ?  " 
"  They  saw  me  bleeding  on  the  ground, 
And  pass'd  in  silence  by  ! " 

"  But,  sufferer  !  is  no  comfort  near, 
Thy  terrors  to  remove  ?  " 
"  There  is  to  Whom  my  soul  was  dear, 
But  I  have  scorned  His  love." 

"  What  if  His  hand  were  nigh  to  save 
From  endless  death  thy  days  ?  " 
"  The  soul  He  ransom'd  from  the  grave 
Should  live  but  to  His  praise  ! " 


XIIl.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY    307 

"  Rise,  then,  oh  rise  !  His  health  embrace, 
With  heavenly  strength  renew'd ; 
And,  such  as  is  thy  Saviour's  grace, 
Such  be  thy  gratitude  ! " 

Reginald  Heber 


WEDNESDAY 

COME  let  us  sound  her  praise  abroad. 
Sweet  Charity,  the  child  of  God  ! 
Her,  on  whose  kind  maternal  breast 
The  shelter'd  babes  of  misery  rest ; 

Who,  when  she  sees  the  sufferer  bleed, 
Reckless  of  name,  or  sect,  or  creed, 
Comes  with  prompt  hand  and  look  benign, 
To  bathe  his  wounds  in  oil  and  wine ; 

Who  in  her  robe  the  sinner  hides. 
And  soothes  and  pities  while  she  chides ; 
Who  lends  an  ear  to  every  cry. 
And  asks  no  plea  but  misery. 

Her  tender  mercies  freely  fall. 

Like  Heaven's  refreshing  dews  on  all ; 

Encircling  in  their  wide  embrace 

Her  friends,  her  foes — the  human  race. 

Nor  bounded  to  the  earth  alone, 
Her  love  expands  to  worlds  unknown ; 
Wherever  Faith's  rapt  thought  has  soar'd. 
Or  hope  her  upward  flight  explor'd. 

Ere  these  received  their  name  or  birth. 
She  dwelt  in  Heaven,  she  smiled  on  earth ; 
Of  all  celestial  graces  blest. 
The  first — the  last — the  greatest — best. 


3o8  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

When  Faith  and  Hope,  from  earth  set  free, 

Are  lost  in  boundless  ecstasy, 

Eternal  daughter  of  the  skies, 

She  mounts  to  Heaven,  and  never  dies. 

W.  H.  Drummond 


THURSDAY 

SINCE  without  Thee  we  do  no  good, 
And  with  Thee  do  no  ill, 
Abide  with  us  in  weal  and  woe, 
In  action  and  in  will. 

In  weal, — that  while  our  lips  confess 
The  Lord  that  "  gives,"  we  may 

Remember,  with  an  humble  thought, 
The  Lord  Who  *'  takes  away." 

In  woe, — that,  while  to  drowning  tears 
Our  hearts  their  joys  resign. 

We  may  remember  IV^o  can  turn 
Such  water  into  wine. 

By  hours  of  day, — that  when  our  feet 

O'er  hill  and  valley  run. 
We  still  may  think  the  light  of  truth 

More  welcome  than  the  sun. 

By  hours  of  night, — that  when  the  air 

Its  dew  and  shadow  yields. 
We  still  may  hear  the  voice  of  God 

In  silence  of  the  fields. 

Oh  !  then  sleep  comes  on  us  Hke  death. 
All  soundless,  deaf  and  deep : 

Lord  !  teach  us  so  to  watch  and  pray. 
That  death  may  come  like  sleep. 


XIII.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     309 

Abide  with  us^  abide  with  2is^ 

While  flesh  and  soul  agree  ; 
And  when  our  flesh  is  only  dust, 

Abide  our  souls  with  Thee. 

Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning 


FRIDAY 

AUTUMN  has  come  at  last ;  and  Nature  now 
Binds  up  her  summer  tresses  and  disrobes, 
That  she  may  lay  herself  in  silence  down 
Upon  her  winter's  couch,  and  there  by  sleep 
Repair  her  worn-out  energies,  and  draw 
New  life  into  her  veins,  that  when  the  sun 
Flames  out  again,  and  the  long-silent  voice 
Of  happy  birds  and  happier  children  wakes 
Spring's  first  glad  matin  song,  she  may  arise. 
Girt   with   new   strength   and   with   fresh  beauty 

clothed. 
Thus  comes  life's  autumn,  and  the  happy  spirit. 
Calmly  disrobing,  lays  its  garments  down, 
Upon  the  leaf-strewn  soil  of  this  old  earth. 
Committing  them,  in  quiet  confidence. 
To  the  safe  keeping  of  the  trusty  tomb. 
Till  death's  brief  winter  shall  have  passed  away. 
Then  these  old  robes,  with  which  she  walked  the 

earth, 
Purged  from  each  stain  of  vile  mortality 
By  the  all-cleansing  winter  of  the  grave. 
And  blanch'd  to  glorious  whiteness  by  its  gloom. 
Shall  shine  in  fairer,  fresher  purity. 
When  earth's  long-promised  spring  at  last  arrives. 
And  the  unsetting  sun  smiles  down  in  peace 
O'er  a  new  Paradise  of  love  and  joy. 

HORATIUS    BONAR 


310  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 


SATURDAY 

IN  every  place,  in  every  hour, 
Whate'er  my  wayward  lot  may  be, 
In  joy  or  grief,  in  sun  or  shower, 
Father  and  Lord,  I  turn  to  Thee. 

Thee,  when  the  incense-breathing  flowers 
Pour  forth  the  worship  of  the  spring. 

With  the  glad  tenants  of  the  bowers 
My  trembling  accents  strive  to  sing. 

Thee,  when  upon  the  frozen  strand 
Winter,  begirt  with  storms,  descends  ; 

Thee,  Lord,  I  hail.  Whose  gracious  hand 
O'er  all  a  guardian  care  extends. 

Thee,  when  the  golden  harvests  yield 
Their  treasures  to  increase  our  store  ; 

Thee,  when  through  ether's  gloomy  field 
The  lightnings  flash,  the  thunders  roar. 

Thee,  when  athwart  the  azure  sky 
Thy  starry  hosts  their  mazes  lead, 

And  when  Thou  sheddest  from  on  high 
Thy  dewdrops  on  the  flowery  mead. 

Thee,  when  my  cup  of  bliss  o'erflows ; 

Thee,  when  my  heart's  best  joys  are  fled  ; 
Thee,  when  my  breast  exulting  glows ; 

Thee,  while  I  bend  beside  the  dead. 

AUke  in  joy  and  in  distress, 

O  let  me  trace  Thy  hand  Divine ; 

Righteous  in  chast'ning,  prompt  to  bless. 
Still,  Father,  may  Thy  will  be  mine. 

Lady  Flora  Hastings 


XIV.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY      311 

THE  FOURTEENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER 
TRINITY 

LORD,  through  infinity,  which  lay  outspread. 
Thou  lookedst  for  a  form  and  it  was  mine : 
From  nothingness  to  happy  life  I  sped — 
And  yet  I  linger  with  the  ungrateful  nine  I 

Thou  giv'st  me  to  behold  the  teeming  earth, 
With  glimpses  through  it  of  Thy  vast  design  : 

I  feel  its  glory  and  its  mystic  worth — 
And  yet  I  linger  with  the  ungrateful  nine  ! 

I  placed  the  creatures  on  the  Maker's  Throne, 
Lost  in  their  glamour  to  Thy  claim  Divine  : 

And  Thou  didst  plan  to  bring  me  back  Thine 
own — 
A  fid  yet  I  linger  with  the  ungrateful  nine  ! 

Thy  Son  forgot  the  raptures  of  the  sky, 
Entering  our  nature  as  a  lowly  shrine, 

And  was  content  because  of  me  to  die — 
And  yet  I  linger  7vith  the  ungrateful  nine  t 

And  now  He  comes  to  me  as  heavenly  Food, 
Like  Manna  hidden  'neath  the  Bread  and  Wine  : 

What  ?     Can  1  still  prolong  my  thankless  mood 
And  linger  always  with  the  ungrateful  nine  1 

Nay,  Lord,  behold  me  full  of  thankfulness  : 
Help  my  ingratitude,  for  I  am  Thine : 

O  teach  my  lips  to  praise  Thee  and  to  bless — 
/  will  arise  and  leave  the  ungrateful  nine  I 

G.  T.  S.  Farquhar 


312  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

WEEK  OF  THE  FOURTEENTH  SUNDAY 
AFTER  TRINITY 

MONDAY 

HAPPY  is  he,  who  at  each  gift  of  grace, 
Turns  back  to  bless  the  bountiful  Bestower, 
In  whom  the  plentitude  of  largess  stays, 
And  welling  ever,  gathers  more  and  more  ! 

Happy  is  he,  in  whom  o'erflowing  love 
Finds  a  responsive  heart  to  love  again, 

Happy  the  soil,  that  goodly  seeks  to  prove. 
By  rapid  growth  the  gentle  falling  rain  ! 

Like  two  sweet  lutes,  accorded  well  the  two, 
When  swept  the  one,  the  other  murmurs  sweet, 

So  happy  is  the  heart  accorded  true, 
That  murmurs  soft  response  and  echo  meet. 

Happy  is  he,  whose  streams  of  grace  return. 

Laden  with   sweets,   to  whence  they  first  have 
well'd. 

Who  keeps  the  freshness  of  youth's  early  morn, 
Fervent  and  fresh  to  late  declining  eld  ! 

A  few  short  years  shall  quickly  pass  away. 
Life's  orbit  traced,  to  be  retraced  no  more. 

But  he,  whose  course  in  love  was  guided  aye, 
A  wider  orb  shall  reach,  and  goodlier  shore ; — 

Where  everlasting  love  shall  crown  his  soul. 

With  new   and  fathomless  depths,  wherein  to 
trace. 

As  countless  years  pass  by,  and  ages  roll, 
The  ample  plenitude  of  loving  grace  ! 


XIV.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY      313 


TUESDAY 

LORD,   what  am  I  ?      A  worm,  dust,  vapour, 
nothing ! 
What  is  my  life  ?     A  dream,  a  daily  dying  ! 
What  is  my  flesh  ?     My  soul's  uneasy  clothing  ! 
What  is  my  time  ?     A  minute  ever  flying  1 
My  time,  my  flesh,  my  life,  and  I : 
What  are  we.  Lord,  but  vanity  ? 

Where  am  I,  Lord  ?     Downe  in  a  vale  of  Death  : 

What  is  my  trade  ?     Sin  my  dear  God  offending  : 
My  sport  sin,  too  ;  my  stay  a  puffe  of  breath  : 
What  end  of  sin  ?     Hell's  horrour  never  ending  : 
My  way,  my  trade,  sport,  stay  and  place 
Help  up  to  make  my  doleful  case. 


Lord   what   art  Thou  ?   pure  life,  power,  beauty, 
bliss : 
Where  dwell'st  Thou  ?  up  above  in  perfect  light : 
What  is  Thy  time  ?     Eternity  it  is  : 

What  state  ?  attendance  of  each  glorious  spirit : 
Thyself,  Thy  place.  Thy  dayes.  Thy  state 
Pass  all  the  thoughts  of  powers  create. 

How  shall  I  reach  Thee,  Lord?     Oh,  soar  above. 
Ambitious  soul !     But  which  way  should  I  flie  ? 
Thou,  Lord,  art  way  and  end.     What  wings  have 
I? 
Aspiring  thoughts  of  faith,  of  hope,  of  love. 
Oh,  let  these  wings  that  way  alone 
Present  me  to  Thy  blissful  throne. 

Joseph  Hall 


314  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 


WEDNESDAY 

AND  is  it  so  that  Nature  stints  her  praise, 
With  niggard  thanks  makes  offering  to  her 
God; 
As  though  His  Spirit  knew  not  all  her  ways, 
And  there  were  paths  that  He  had  never  trod  ? 

See,  the  lone  iceberg  glittering  in  the  sun, 
Reflecting  back  his  beams  with  thankfulness. 

And  reck'ning  up  Heaven's  blessings  one  by  one. 
Does  every  separate  ray  with  joy  confess. 

It  is  not  now  and  then  that  flowers  are  fair, 
And  smile  their  gratitude  for  blessings  given  ; 

Or  gleam  at  morning,  through  a  grateful  tear. 
For  all  the  mercy  showered  down  by  Heaven. 

It  is  not  here  and  there  that  woods  grow  green, 
And  bud  beneath  the  spring's  reviving  breath, 

Or  in  their  brightest  hues  arrayed  are  seen 

With  double  beauty  from  their  transient  death. 

No,  Nature  is  not  backward ;  she  declares 

Each  blessing  as  it  comes,  and  owns  her  Lord ; 

She  is  no  miser  of  her  thanks,  nor  spares 
What  due  is  to  the  Giver,  loved,  adored. 

Alas  !  for  man  day  after  day  may  rise. 

Night  after  night  may  shade  his  thankless  head ; 

He  sees  no  God  in  the  bright  morning  skies, 
He  sings  no  praises  for  his  guarded  bed. 

But  one  in  ten  is  found  to  bend  him  low. 

To  thank  that  Father,  Who  has  given  him  all. — 


XIV.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     315 

Down  on  thy  knees,  thou  thankless  one,  and  know 
That  He  Who  gives  can,  at  a  word,  recall. 

T.  Marsland  Hopkins 


THURSDAY 

SWEET  Hope  is  soveraigne  comfort  of  our  life 
Our  joy  in  sorrow  and  our  peace  in  strife ; 
The  dame  of  beggars  and  the  queene  of  kings  : 
Can  these  delight  in  height  of  prosperous  things 
Without  expecting  still  to  keep  them  sure  ? 
Can  those  the  weight  of  heavy  wants  endure 
Unless  persuasion  instant  paine  allay. 
Reserving  spirit  for  a  better  day  ? 
Our  God,  Who  planted  in  His  creature's  breast 
This  stop,  on  which  the  wheeles  of  passion  rest, 
Hath  rays'd,  by  beames  of  His  abundant  grace, 
This  strong  affection  to  a  higher  place. 
It  is  the  second  vertue  which  attends 
That  soule  whose  motion  to  His  sight  ascends. 
Rest  here,  my  mind,  thou  shalt  no  longer  stay 
To  gaze  upon  these  houses  made  with  clay  : 
Thou  shalt  not  stoope  to  honours  or  to  lands. 
Nor  golden  balles,  where  sliding  fortune  stands ; 
If  no  false  colours  draw  thy  steps  amisse, 
Thou  hast  a  palace  of  eternal  blisse, 
A  paradise  from  care  and  feare  exempt, 
An  object  worthy  of  the  best  attempt. 
Who  would  not  for  so  rich  a  country  fight  ? 
Who  would  not  runne  that  sees  a  goal  so  bright  ? 
O  Thou,  Who  art  our  Author  and  our  End, 
On  Whose  large  mercy  chains  of  hope  depend ; 
Lift  me  to  Thee  by  Thy  propitious  hand, 
For  lower  I  can  find  no  place  to  stand. 

Sir  John  Beaumont 


3i6  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 


FRIDAY 

WHY  should  we  vex  our  foolish  minds 
So  much  from  day  to  day, 
With  what  concerning  us  an  idle  World 
May  think  or  say  ? 

Do  we  not  know  there  sits  a  Judge, 
Before  Whose  searching  eyes 

Our  inmost  hidden  being  cleft  in  twain 
And  open  lies  ? 

O  my  Omniscient  Lord  and  God  ! 

Enough,  enough  for  me, 
That  Thou  the  evil  in  me  and  the  good 

Dost  wholly  see. 

Let  others  in  their  fancies  deem  of  me, 

Or  say,  whatever  they  will, 
Such  as  I  am  before  Thy  Judgment-throne 

So  am  I  still. 


Praise  they  my  good  beyond  desert, 

And  all  my  bad  ignore ; — 
That  am  I  which  in  Thy  pure  sight  I  am. 

No  less,  no  more  ! 

Decry  they  all  my  good,  and  blame 

My  evil  in  excess  ; — 
That  am  I  which  in  Thy  pure  sight  I  am, 

No  more,  no  less  ! 

Edward  Caswall 


XIV.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY      317 


SATURDAY 

NEATH  the  full  beamings  of  an  orient  sky 
The  prophet  sat,  watching  what  God  would 

do 
Unto  the  doomed  city.     Nought  was  there 
Of  lofty  rock  or  shadowing  palm-tree  tall, 
From  the  sun's  heat  to  shelter,  so  he  made 
A  booth  and  sat  therein,  and  God  prepared 
A  gourd,  which  straightway  grew ;  and  pleasantly 
Beneath  the  shadow  of  its  spreading  leaves 
The  prophet  felt  refreshed.     Brief  pleasantness  : 
For  in  the  gourd — the  gourd  which  gladdened  him, 
The    gourd    which    God's    own    goodness    had 

prepared — 
There  was  a  worm,  which  smote  it  that  it  withered. 
Withered    and   died.     Was   it    not    strange   that 

God, 
Whose  power  prepared  the  comfort,  should  Himself 
As  well  prepare  the  blight  ?  but  from  the  fact 
Is  drawn  a  useful  lesson,  which  our  God 
Sees  that  His  servants  need. 

Ponder,  my  soul, 
The  history  :  to  nothing  earthly  yield 
Thy  soul's  affections  !     In  a  night  earth's  joys 
Spring  up,  and  ofttimes  in  a  night  they  die — 
Die,  blighted  by  the  worm  within  themselves  ! 
Neither  presumptuously,  my  soul,  arraign 
His  ways  Whose  steps  are  on  the  shoreless  sea; 
But,  holding  earth's  delights  with  loosened  hand. 
Walk  softly,  humbly,  prayerfully  with  God. 

Ebenezer  Palmer 


3i8  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

THE  FIFTEENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER 
TRINITY 

THEN  give  Thy  saints 
That  faithful  zeal  which  neither  faints 
Nor  wildly  burns,  but  meekly  still 
Dares  own  the  truth  and  show  the  ill. 
Frustrate  those  cancerous,  close  arts 
Which  cause  solution  in  all  parts. 
And  strike  them  dumb,  who,  for  mere  words 
Wound  Thy  beloved  more  than  swords. 
Dear  Lord,  do  thus  !  and  then  let  grace 
Descend  and  hallow  all  the  place ; 
Incline  each  hard  heart  to  do  good, 
And  cement  us  with  Thy  Son's  blood ; 
That  like  true  sheep,  all  in  one  fold, 
We  may  be  fed  and  one  mind  hold. 
Give  watchful  spirits  to  our  guides  : 
For  sin — like  water — hourly  glides 
By  each  man's  door,  and  quickly  will 
Turn  in,  if  not  obstructed  still. 
Therefore  write  in  their  hearts  Thy  law, 
And  let  these  long,  sharp  judgments  awe 
Their  very  thoughts,  that  by  their  clear 
And  holy  lives  Mercy  may  here 
Sit  regent  yet,  and  blessings  flow 
As  fast  as  persecutions  nqw. 
So  shall  we  know,  in  war  and  peace. 
Thy  service  to  be  our  sole  ease. 
With  prostrate  souls  adoring  Thee, 
Who  turned  our  sad  captivity. 

Henry  Vaughan 


XV.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     319 

WEEK  OF  THE  FIFTEENTH  SUNDAY 
AFTER  TRINITY 

MONDAY 

LIKE  Israel's  king,  oft  have  I  too  received 
From  some  who  fear  not  God,  neither  regard 
Man  or  man's  laws,  a  letter,  false,  unkind, 
Threatening  to  injure.     They  are  too  hard  for  me. 
What  can  I  but  as  Hezekiah  did, 
Take  it  to  God,  and  on  the  knee  of  prayer 
Supplicate,  earnestly  supplicate,  in  faith 
My  Heavenly  Father's  all-sufficient  aid  ? 

O  Thou  Who  dwell'st  between  the  cherubim. 
Bow  down  Thine  ear,  and  hear  my  sad  complaint, 
Bow  down  Thine  eye  and  see  my  deep  distress ; 
Save,  Father,  that  Thy  children  and  the  world 
May  know  that  Thou  and  only  Thou  art  God. 
In  every  gone-by  trouble  Thou  hast  heard, 
Thou  hast  upheld,  till  now !     Across  the  waste. 
The  dreary  wilderness  of  trodden  years, 
Faith  can  full  many  an  Ebenezer  see. 
Pillars  erected  to  commemorate 
The  answered  prayer,  the  great  deliverance  known. 
I  plead  no  merit.  Lord ;  no  worthiness ; 
I  plead  Thy  Name,  Thy  promise ;  yea,  I  look 
To  Thee  in  Thy  true  temple,  confident 
That  while  the  prayer  of  faith  is  lisped  without. 
Our  great  Melchizedek  will  incense  give 
From  His  gold  censer  in  the  sanctuary, 
Perfumed  by  which  my  prayer  acceptably 
Will  reach  the  presence  of  the  Lord  of  Hosts. 
Spirit  of  prayer  !  teach  me  the  prayer  of  faith ; 
I  need  the  blessing,  the  protection  need ; 


320  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Let  not  the  chariot  and  the  war-horse,  Lord, 
Crush  one  who  trusts  in  Thee,  on  Thee  the  Rock, 
The  Rock  to  which  I  cling,  all  destitute ; 
Shelterless  else  !  Lord,  hear  me  !  hear  and  save  ! 

Ebenezer  Palmer 


TUESDAY 

WE  walk  amid  a  world  of  beauteous  things, 
Unnumbered     blessings    all    around    us 
flowing. 
Till  we  forget  the  gracious  Hand  that  brings. 
Unheeded  in  Its  bountiful  bestowing. 

Sweet  sights,  glad  sounds,  are  round  us  every  day — 
The  golden  dawn,  the  gentle  breath  of  even, 

The  scent  of  summer  flowers,  the  sun's  warm  ray, 
And  all  for  pleasure,  all  for  comfort  given. 

We  walk  in  a  new  life ;  for  us  the  stain 

That  fell  on  this  bright  world,  God's  fair  creation, 

Is  washed  away ;  and  we  are  made  again 

The  sons  of  God,  the  heirs  of  Christ's  salvation  ; 

And  Angels  wave  their  guardian  wings  around ; 

Communion  with  eternal  things  is  ours, 
Hopes  brightening  still,  and  joys  that  are  not  found 

On  this  fair  earth  with  all  her  songs  and  flowers. 

Where  are  our  deeds  in  grateful  service  done  ? 

Where   are   the   words   with    thankful    rapture 
burning  ? 
Alas  !  though  we  are  cleansed,  there's  scarcely  one 

With  voice  of  praise  and  works  of  love  returning. 


XV.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY      321 

But  words  are  weak  when  thoughts  lie  deep  and 
strong ; 
Then  hearts  run  o'er,  in  deeds  their  love  ex- 
pressing ; 
Be  all  your  holy  lives  one  grateful  song, 

Be  all  your  acts  one  voice  of  praise  and  blessing. 
Cecil  Frances  Alexander 


WEDNESDAY 

WEIGHING  the  steadfastness  and  state 
Of  some  mean  things  which  here  below 
reside. 
Where  birds  like  watchful  clocks  the  noiseless  date 

And  intercourse  of  times  divide. 
Where   bees   at  night  get   home   and   hive,   and 
flowers, 
Early  as  well  as  late, 
Rise  with  the  sun,  and  set  in  the  same  bowers : 

I  would,  said  I,  my  God  would  give 

The  staidness  of  these  things  to  man  !  for  these 
To  His  divine  appointment  ever  cleave. 

And  no  new  business  breaks  their  peace ; 
The  birds  nor  sow  nor  reap,  yet  sup  and  dine, 

The  flowers  without  clothes  live, 
Yet  Solomon  was  never  drest  so  fine. 

Man  hath  still  either  toys  or  care  ; 

He  hath  no  root,  nor  to  one  place  is  tied. 
But  ever  restless  and  irregular 

About  this  earth  doth  run  and  ride. 
He  knows  he   hath  a   home,  but   scarce   knows 
where ; 

He  says  it  is  so  far 
That  he  hath  quite  forgot  how  to  go  there. 


322  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

He  knocks  at  all  doors,  strays  and  roams ; 

Nay  hath  not  so  much  wit  as  some  stones  have 
Which  in  the  darkest  nights  point  to  their  homes, 

By  some  hid  sense  their  Maker  gave ; 
Man  is  the  shuttle  to  whose  winding  quest 

And  passage  through  these  looms 
God  ordered  motion,  but  ordained  no  rest. 

Henry  Vaughan 


THURSDAY 

NAY,  but  these  are  breezes  bright, 
Currents  pure  from  deeps  of  light ; 
Bracing  to  all  hearts  are  they. 
He  Whom  winds  and  seas  obey 
To  the  children  of  His  love 
Tempers  them  that  they  may  prove 
Free,  not  lawless,  chastely  bold. 
Self-controlling,  Heaven-controlled. 
Fear  not  if  strong  o'er  thee  such  gales  should  blow, 
Even  when  autumnal  life  might  sigh  for  calm  ; 
But  test  them  ere  thine  heart  o'erflow. 
By  pureness,  and  by  love's  soft  balm. 

From  the  rushing  of  that  breeze 

Far  away  the  ill  spirit  flees. 

What  were  else  a  storm  and  strife, 

Blotting  the  last  gleam  of  life, 

Now  shall  waft  thee  steadily 

Upward  through  the  lucid  sky. 

Like  the  deep  air  gathering 

Underneath  an  eagle's  wing. 

Then  fearless  let  the  sacred  whirlwind  bear 

Thee,  wearied  else,  where  Christlike  souls  ascend ; 


XV.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY      323 

But  mark : — no  gales  may  waft  thee  there, 
But  thence  were  breathed,  and  homeward  tend. 

John  Keble 

FRIDAY 

THO'  nothing  once,  and  born  but  yesterday. 
Like  Him  Who  knows  nor  ending  nor  decay, 
So  shalt  thou  live,  my  soul,  immortal  one  ! 
Strong  as  the  firm,  the  dread,  eternal  throne, 
Endless  as  God,  Who  sits  for  aye  thereon. 

Infinite  Father !  shall  Thy  creature  dare 
Look  forth,  and  say,  Eternity  I  share 
With  Him  Who  made  me  ?    May  he  forward  send 
His  thoughts,  and  say,  Like  God  1  know  no  end  ? — 
Stretch  onward,  age  on  age,  till  mind  grows  dim. 
Yet  conscious,  cry.  There  still  am  I  with  Him  ? 
Worm  of  the  dust,  thought  almost  blasphemy  ! 
Dread  glory  ! — I,  like  God,  shall  ever  be  ! 

O  goodness  searchless !  Thou  Who  once  didst  walk 
With  man  on  earth,  with  man  familiar  talk, 
Bringing  Thyself  to  him,  to  lead  the  way 
From  darkness  up  to  glory  and  to  day. 
Uniting  with  our  form,  that  man,  when  blind 
To  all  but  sense,  the  high  intent  might  find 
Of  his  own  soul,  his  never  dying  mind, — 
Teach  us,  in  this  Thy  Sacrifice,  to  see 
Thy  love, — our  worth,  in  this  great  m.ystery. 

Richard  Henry  Dana 


SATURDAY 

SPIRIT  of  God  !  descend  upon  my  heart ; 
Wean  it  from  earth ;  through  all  its  pulses  move ; 
Stoop  to  my  weakness,  mighty  as  Thou  art, 
And  make  me  love  Thee  as  I  ought  to  love. 


324  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

I  ask  no  dream,  no  prophet  ecstasies ; 

No  sudden  rending  of  the  veil  of  clay  ; 
No  Angel-visitant,  no  opening  skies  ; 

But  take  the  dimness  of  my  soul  away. 

Hast  Thou  not  bid  us  love  Thee,  God  and  King  ? 

All,  all  Thine  own — soul,  heart,  and  strength, 
and  mind  ; 
I  see  Thy  Cross — there  teach  my  heart  to  cling : 

O  let  me  seek  Thee,  and  O  let  me  find  ! 

Teach  me  to  feel  that  Thou  art  always  nigh  ; 

Teach  me  the  struggles  of  the  soul  to  bear ; 
To  check  the  rising  doubt,  the  rebel  sigh  ; 

Teach  me  the  patience  of  unanswer'd  prayer. 

Teach  me  to  love  Thee  as  Thine  Angels  love, 
One  holy  passion  filling  all  my  frame  ; 

The  baptism  of  the  Heaven-descended  Dove, 
My  heart  an  altar,  and  Thy  love  the  flame. 

George  Croly 


THE  SIXTEENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER 
TRINITY 

THEY  came  on, 
Bearing  a  body  heavily  on  its  bier. 
And  by  the  crowd  that  in  the  burning  sun 
Walk'd  with  forgetful  sadness,  'twas  one 
Mourn'd  with  uncommon  sorrow.     The  broad  gate 
Swung  on  its  hinges,  and  the  Roman  bent 
His  spear-point  downwards  as  the  bearers  pass'd. 
Bending  beneath  their  burden.     There  was  one — 


XVI.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     325 

Only  one  mourner.     Close  behind  the  bier, 
Crumpling  the  pall  up  in  her  wither'd  hands, 
Follow'd  an  aged  woman.     Her  short  steps 
Falter'd  with  weakness,  and  a  broken  moan 
Fell  from  her  lips,  thicken'd  convulsively 
As  her  heart  bled  afresh.     The  pitying  crowd 
Follow'd  apart,  but  no  one  spoke  to  her. 
She  had  no  kinsmen.     She  had  lived  alone — 
A  widow  with  one  son.     He  was  her  all — 
The  only  tie  she  had  in  the  wide  world, 
And  he  was  dead.     They  could  not  comfort  her. 
Forth  from  the  city-gate  the  pitying  crowd 
Follow'd  the  stricken  mourner.     They  came  near 
The  place  of  burial,  and,  with  straining  hands, 
Closer  upon  her  breast  she  clasp'd  the  pall. 
And  with  a  gasping  sob,  quick  as  a  child's. 
And  an  inquiring  wildness  flashing  through 
The  thin  grey  lashes  of  her  fever'd  eyes, 
She  came  where  Jesus  stood  beside  the  way. 
He  look'd  upon  her,  and  His  heart  was  moved. 
"  Weep  not !  "  He  said ;  and  as  they  stay'd  the  bier. 
And  at  His  bidding  laid  it  at  His  feet. 
He  gently  drew  the  pall  from  out  her  grasp 
And  laid  it  back  in  silence  from  the  dead. 
With  troubled  wonder  the  mute  throng  drew  near, 
And  gazed  on  His  calm  looks.     A  minute's  space 
He  stood   and  pray'd.       Then,   taking   the  cold 

hand. 
He  said,  "  Arise  !  "     And  instantly  the  breast 
Heaved  in  its  cerements,  and  a  sudden  flush 
Ran  through  the  lines  of  the  divided  lips, 
And  with  a  murmur  of  his  mother's  name. 
He  trembled  and  sat  upright  in  his  shroud. 
And,  while  the  mourner  hung  upon  his  neck, 
Jesus  went  calmly  on  His  way  to  Nain. 

Nathaniel  Parker  Willis 


326  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

WEEK  OF  THE  SIXTEENTH  SUNDAY 
AFTER  TRINITY 

MONDAY 

OH    sweetest    words    that   Jesus    could    have 
spoke, 
To    soothe   the   widow's   heart    which   grief  had 

broke ; 
They  fall  with  comfort  on  mine  ear, 
When  life  is  sad  and  trouble  near. 

They  were  not  whispered  accents,  but  aloud 
The  Saviour  spake  them  to  the  silent  crowd  ; 
That  each  might  hear  His  heavenly  voice, 
And  in  the  widow's  joy  rejoice  ! 

Words  that  were  spoken  amid  sorrow's  strife, 
And  in  the  very  midst  of  death  and  life ; 
They  shall  refresh  my  soul  at  last. 
And  strengthen  me  till  life  is  past. 

If  poverty  obscures  my  earthly  lot. 

Then  shall  I  hear  my  Saviour  say,  "  Weep  not  "  ; 

To  God,  our  Father,  raise  thine  eye, 

For  He  still  hears  the  raven's  cry. 

Though  death  the  dearest  to  my  heart  has  slain, 
Jesus  shall  yet  restore  my  dead  again ; 
"Weep  not,"  He  says,  "poor  weary  one. 
But  think  on  what  at  Nain  I've  done  !  " 

And  when  I  shall  myself  draw  near  to  death. 
This  Jesus  shall  be  there,  and  thus  He  saith, 
"  The  race  is  run,  the  battle  fought, 
I  am  thy  light,  thy  life,  '  weep  not ! '  " 


XVI.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     327 

Oh,  sweetest  words  that  Jesus  could  have  spoke, 
To  raise  the  weary  hearts  which  grief  had  broke ; 
Thrice  blessed  words !     I  listening  stay 
Till  grief  and  sorrow  melt  away. 

Jane  Borthwick 


TUESDAY 

ME  hath  He  called  to  love  Him,  me  hath 
deign'd 
To   call   His   child,    for   me    His   life-blood 
pour'd ; 
And  when  I  wander  from  Him  He  is  pain'd : 
To  all  things  else  His  all-constraining  word 
Sets  bounds,  and  o'er  them  throws  His  holding 
cord. 
But  to  our  love  :  He  asks  our  being  whole  : 
And  who  unto  the  soul  can  bounds  afford  ? 
'Tis  He,  Who  can  the  infinite  control. 
Alone  can  meet  her  love,  alone  can  fill  the  soul. 

I  ask  not  wealth,  I  ask  not  length  of  days. 

Nor  joys  which  home  and  rural  sights  bestow, 
Nor  honour  among  men,  nor  poet's  praise. 
Nor  friendship,  nor  the  lamp  of  thought  to 
know. 
Which,  with   its    own  warm    light,   bathes   all 
below ; 
Nor  that  the  seed  I  sow  should  harvest  prove ; 
I  ask  not  health,  nor  spirit's  gladdening  flow, 
Nor  an  assured  pledge  of  rest  above, 
If  only  Thou  wilt  give  a  heart  to  know  Thy  love. 

As  many  as  the  crosses  which  abound 

On  every  side  our  road  which  leads  to  Heaven, 


328  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

So  many  tokens  of  Thy  care  are  found 
To  wean  our  fancies  unto  pleasure  given, 

To  aid  Thy  Spirit  which  with  ours  hath  striven, 
And  bring  us  to  the  Cross  of  Thy  deep  woes. 

Here  in  the  twilight  of  the  silent  even, 

While  life's  short  day  to  stable  darkness  goes, 

My  heart  shall  fly  to  Thee,  and  rest  in  Thy  repose. 

Isaac  Williams 


WEDNESDAY 

SEPTEMBER'S  woods   are  clothed  in  darker 
green, 
Though  yet  autumnal  crimson  spares  the  trees ; 
The  sunshine  slants  athwart  the  quiet  scene. 
And  harvest  waves  around  in  golden  seas. 

No  more  the  tender  blade  will  cleave  the  soil, 
For  now  the  swelling  corn  has  filled  the  ear  ; 

The  husbandman  awaits  to-morrow's  toil, 
The  crown  and  issue  of  the  busy  year. 

But  ere  that  sun  can  set  and  rise  again, 

That  slopes  e'en  now  to  hide  beneath  the  west, 

There  is  a  farewell  respite  for  the  grain  ; 
A  final  evening  of  unhindered  rest. 

And  O,  my  heart,  inspired  by  such  a  view 
Of  rich  and  silent  fields,  that  calmly  wait. 

Frets  at  the  countless  turmoils,  which  pursue 
The  hurrying  moments  of  our  mortal  state  ! 

And  it  becomes  the  prophet  of  a  day. 

When  God  shall  bid  the  whirl  of  labour  cease. 

Yet  hold  the  heavenly  reapers  from  my  way, 
And  grant  me  too  a  parting  hour  of  peace ! 


XVI.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     329 

But,  kindly  harvest,  though  I  view  thee  now 
With  longings  for  an  evening  rest  hke  thine, 

Behold,  'tis  God's  to  yield  or  disallow. 

And  'tis  my  part  to  make  His  pleasure  mine ! 
G.  T.  S.  Farquhar 


THURSDAY 

ETERNAL  Father  !  God  of  peace  ! 
Being  Whose  bounties  never  cease  ! 
While  to  the  heavens  in  grateful  tones 
Ascend  our  mingled  orisons. 
Listen  to  these,  the  notes  of  praise, 
Which  we,  a  happy  people,  raise. 
Our  hamlets,  sheltered  by  Thy  care, 
Abodes  of  peace  and  plenty  are  ; 
Our  tillage  by  Thy  blessing  yields 
An  hundredfold — the  ripen'd  fields 
Of  waving  grain — the  burdened  vine — 
Are  tokens  of  Thy  love  divine. 
The  cradled  head  of  infancy 
Oweth  its  tranquil  rest  to  Thee — 
Youth's  doubting  step,  and  firmer  tread 
In  years  mature,  by  Thee  are  led — 
Secure  may  trembling  age,  O  Lord, 
Lean  on  its  staff,  the  Holy  Word. 
Teach  us  these  blessings  to  improve ; 
Teach  us  to  serve  Thee,  teach  to  love — 
Exalt  our  hearts,  that  we  may  see 
The  Giver  of  all  Good  in  Thee  : 
And  be  Thy  Word  our  daily  food, 
Thy  service.  Lord,  our  greatest  good. 
Whether  in  youth,  like  early  fruit. 
Or  in  the  sere  and  solemn  suit 
Of  our  autumnal  age,  like  wheat 
Ripen'd,  and  for  the  reaper  fit, 


330  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Thou  cut  us  off,  O  God,  may  we 
Gathered  into  Thy  garner  be. 

H.  Hastings  Weld 


FRIDAY 

ALAS  !  my  torments  ;  my  distracted  fears 
Have  no  commerce  with  reasonable  tears  : 
How  hath  Heaven's  absence  darken'd  the  renown 
Of  Zion's  glory  with  one  angry  frown  ! 
How  hath  the  Almighty  clouded  those  bright  beams 
And  changed  her  beauties'  streamers  into  streams! 
Zion,  the  glory  of  whose  refulgent  fame 
Gave  earnest  of  an  everlasting  name, 
Is  now  become  an  indigested  mass ; 
And  ruin  is,  where  that  brave  glory  was. 
How  hath  Heaven  struck  her  earth-admired  name 
From  th'  height  of  honour  to  the  depth  of  shame  ! 


Thou  great  Creator,  Whose  diviner  breath 
Preserves  Thy  creature,  joy'st  not  in  his  death, 
Look  down  from  Thy  eternal  Throne,  That  art 
The  only  Rock  of  a  despairing  heart ; 
Look  down  Heaven,  O  from  Thou,  Whose  tender 

ear 
Once  heard  the  trickling  of  one  single  tear  : 
How  art  Thou  now  estranged  from  his  cry. 
That  sends  forth  rivers  from  his  tearful  eye  ! 
How  often  hast  Thou,  with  a  gentle  arm. 
Raised  me  from  death,  and  bid  me  fear  no  harm  ! 
What  strange  disaster  caused  this  sudden  change  ? 
How    wert    Thou    once    so   near,  and    now    so 

strange  ! 

Francis  Quarles 


XVI.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     331 


SATURDAY 

WHEN  darkness  long  has  veil'd  my  mind 
And  smiling  day  once  more  appears, 
Then,  my  Redeemer,  then  I  find 
The  folly  of  my  doubts  and  fears. 

Straight  I  upbraid  my  wandering  heart 

And  blush  that  I  should  ever  be 
Thus  prone  to  act  so  base  a  part 

Or  harbour  one  hard  thought  of  Thee. 

Oh  !  let  me  then  at  length  be  taught 
What  I  am  still  so  slow  to  learn, 

That  God  is  love  and  changes  not, 
Nor  knows  the  shadow  of  a  turn. 

Sweet  truth,  and  easy  to  repeat ! 

But  when  my  faith  is  sharply  tried, 
I  find  myself  a  learner  yet. 

Unskilful,  weak,  and  apt  to  slide. 

But,  O  my  Lord,  one  look  from  Thee 

Subdues  the  disobedient  will ; 
Drives  doubt  and  discontent  away. 

And  Thy  rebellious  child  is  still. 

Thou  art  as  ready  to  forgive 

As  I  am  ready  to  repine ; 
Thou,  therefore,  all  the  praise  receive ; 

Be  shame  and  self-abhorrence  mine. 

William  Cowper 


332  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

THE  SEVENTEENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER 
TRINITY 

ONE  baptism,  and  one  faith, 
One  Lord,  below,  above ! 
The  fellowship  of  Zion  hath 

One  only  watch  ward, — Love. 
From  different  temples  though  it  rise, 
One  song  ascendeth  to  the  skies. 

Our  Sacrifice  is  One  ; 

One  priest  before  the  Throne, — 
The  Crucified,  the  risen  Son, 

Redeemer,  Lord  alone  ! 
And  sighs  from  contrite  hearts  that  spring, 
Our  chief,  our  choicest  offering. 

Oh,  why  should  they  who  love 

One  Gospel  to  unfold. 
Who  look  for  one  bright  home  above. 

On  earth  be  strange  and  cold  ? 
Why,  subjects  of  the  Prince  of  Peace, 
In  strife  abide,  and  bitterness  ? 

Oh,  may  that  holy  prayer, 

His  tenderest  and  His  last. 
The  utterance  of  His  latest  care, 

Ere  to  His  Throne  He  passed, — 
No  longer  unfulfilled  remain 
The  world's  offence,  the  people's  stain  ! 

Head  of  Thy  Church  beneath. 

The  catholic, — the  true, — 
On  her  disjointed  members  breathe, 

Her  broken  frame  renew  ! 


XVII.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     333 

Then  shall  Thy  perfect  will  be  done 
When  Christians  love  and  live  as  one. 

E.  Robinson 


WEEK  OF  THE  SEVENTEENTH   SUNDAY 
AFTER  TRINITY 

MONDAY 

AN  earnest,  ardent  will  for  good, 
Increasing  still  with  new  desire, 
Still  longing  more  and  more  for  food  — 
Such  is  love's  holy,  heavenly  fire  ! 

Zeal  for  all  virtue,  more  and  more. 
Is  the  instinctive  mark  to  prove 

That  thou  hast  rightly  learn'd  to  soar 
Upon  the  upward  wings  of  love  ! 

Who  does  not  every  hour  apply 
Fresh  fuel  to  increase  the  flame. 

Who  lifts  not  up  his  heart  on  high, 
Knoweth  of  love  but  by  the  name  ! 

Who  does  not  every  day  improve, 

And  grow  more  pure  each  forward  pace, 

Knows  not  the  fire  of  holy  love. 
Nor  basks  within  its  kindly  rays. 

A  firm  resolve  to  welcome  death. 
Rather  than  grovel  back  in  sin. 

To  cling  more  loving  to  thy  faith. 
And  every  day  new  worth  to  win ; — 


334  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

To  bow  before  affliction's  rod, 
To  nurse  a  contrite  soul  apart. — 

Such  are  the  fruits  of  love  to  God, 
Within  the  faithful's  glowing  heart ! 


TUESDAY 

SINCE  trifles  make  the  sum  of  human  things, 
And  half  our  misery  from  our  foibles  springs  ; 
Since  life's  best  joys  consist  in  peace  and  ease. 
And  though  but  few  can  serve,  yet  all  may  please : 
Oh  !  let  the  ungentle  spirit  learn  from  hence, 
A  small  unkindness  is  a  great  offence. 
To  spread  large  bounties  though  we  wish  in  vain, 
Yet  all  may  shun  the  guilt  of  giving  pain  : 
To  bless  mankind  with  tides  of  flowing  wealth. 
With  rank  to  grace  them,  or  to  crown  with  health, 
Our  little  lot  denies  ;  yet  liberal  still. 
Heaven  gives  its  counterpoise  to  every  ill ; 
Nor  let  us  murmur  at  our  stinted  powers, 
When  kindness,  love,  and  concord,  may  be  ours. 
The  gift  of  ministering  to  others'  ease. 
To  all  alike,  impartial,  God  decrees  : 
The  gentle  offices  of  patient  love. 
Beyond  all  flattery,  and  all  price  above : 
The  mild  forbearance  at  a  brother's  fault, 
The  angry  word  suppressed,  the  taunting  thought ; 
Subduing  and  subdued,  the  petty  strife. 
Which  clouds  the  colour  of  domestic  life  ; 
The  sober  comfort,  all  the  peace  which  springs 
From  the  large  aggregate  of  little  things  ; 
On  these  small  cares  of  daughter,  wife,  or  friend, 
The  almost  sacred  joys  of  home  depend. 
There,  kind  affection,  there  thou  best  may  reign, 
Home  is  thy  true  legitimate  domain. 


XVII.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     335 

A  solitary  bliss  thou  ne'er  could'st  find, 

Thy  joys  with  those  thou  lov'st  are  intertwined  ; 

And  he  whose  helpful  tenderness  removes 

The  rankling  thorn  which  wounds  the  breast  he 

loves, 
Smooths  not  another's  rugged  path  alone. 
But  clears  the  obstructions  which  impede  his  own. 

Hannah  More 


WEDNESDAY 

WORK  while  it  is  called  to-day. 
Watch  and  pray ! 
With  both  thine  hands  right  earnestly, 
As  in  sight  of  God  most  high, 
Thy  calling  ply. 

Watch  !  it  is  the  Master  calls  thee ; 

Pray  !  it  is  His  ear  that  hears  ; 

Up  !  shake  off  thy  chilly  fears  ! 
Mindful  that  whate'er  befalls  thee 

Leaves  thee  further  on  thy  way, 
Watch  and  pray. 

Watch  !  for  demons  haunt  around  thee, 
Sin  and  harm  beset  thy  path ; 
Yet  be  sure  that  nothing  hath 

Power  to  hinder  or  confound  thee. 
So  thou  faithfully  alway 

Watch  and  pray. 

Pray  !  lest  watching  make  thee  weary ; 

Praying  thou  shalt  never  fail. 
Though  the  night  be  long  and  dreary. 


336  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Though  the  dawn  be  faint  and  pale, 
Brightens  fast  the  perfect  day  : 
Watch  and  pray. 

H.  G.  TOMKINS 


THURSDAY 

THERE  are  some  hearts  like  wells,  green-mossed 
and  deep 
As  ever  summer  saw, 
And  cool  their  water  is,  yea,  cool  and  sweet ; 

But  you  must  come  to  draw. 
They  hoard  not,  yet  they  rest  in  calm  content. 

And  not  unsought  will  give ; 
They  can  be  quiet  with  their  wealth  unspent, 
So  self-contained  they  live. 

And  there  are  some  like  springs,   that  bubbling 
burst 

To  follow  dusty  ways, 
And  run  with  offered  cup  to  quench  his  thirst 

Where  the  tired  traveller  strays  ; 
That  never  ask  the  meadows  if  they  want 

What  is  their  joy  to  give ; 
Unasked,  their  lives  to  other  life  they  grant, 

So  self-bestowed  they  live. 

And  One  is  like  the  ocean,  deep  and  wide, 

Wherein  all  waters  fall ; 
That  girdles  the  broad  earth,  and  draws  the  tide, 

Feeding  and  bearing  all. 
That  breeds  the  mists,  that  sends  the  clouds  abroad, 

That  takes  again  to  give  ; — 
Even  the  great  and  loving  heart  of  God, 

Whereby  all  love  doth  live. 


XVII.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     337 


FRIDAY 

ARISE,  my  soul,  the  morning  sun 
Will  soon  disperse  the  silv'ry  mist ; 
Its  giant  course  is  just  begun  ; 

E'en  now  the  rose  of  dawn  hath  kiss'd 
The  topmost  branches  of  the  trees ; 

Arise,  my  soul,  the  early  birds 
Are  waken'd  by  the  whisp'ring  breeze 
Rustling  the  foliage,  and  the  words 
Of  God  Himself  join  with  the  song,  and  say  : 
"Arise,  come  forth,  and  work  while  it  is  day." 

But,  O  my  soul !  thy  morn  is  o'er, 

The  mid-day  of  thy  course  is  past ; 
Is  pass'd  to  be  recall'd  no  more. 

And  ev'ning  shades  are  falling  fast. 
Hast  thou  indeed  no  work  to  do. 

That  I  may  fold  my  arms  and  sleep  ? 
Thou  hast  to  battle  with  the  foe ; 
A  race  to  run ;  a  guard  to  keep. 
Look  to  the  Cross  !     The  Saviour  never  cried 
"  'Tis  finish'd  "  till  He  bowed  the  head  and  died. 

0  Lord  !     I  loitered  by  the  way. 

And  slumber'd  while  the  golden  light 
Call'd  me  to  work,  to  watch  and  pray, 
To  run  the  race,  and  fight  the  fight : 

1  paus'd  to  pluck  some  fragile  flower 

Which  faded  ere  the  sun  went  down, 
Forgetful  that  the  Christian's  dower 
Is  first  the  cross,  and  then  the  crown. 
Restore  my  soul,  may  I  no  longer  roam  ; 
But  keep  the  narrow  way  that  leads  me  home. 

John  Streatfeild 

Y 


338  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 


SATURDAY 

SOUL,  when  your  flesh  dissolves  to  dust, 
To  God's  safe  hands  yourself  entrust ; 
Be  not  too  curious  to  inquire 

Where  to  aspire ; 

Whether  to  Paradise  you  fly, 
Or  in  bless'd  Abram's  bosom  lie, 
Or  to  that  orb  your  flight  you  raise 

Where  Enoch  stays ; 

Or  to  the  third  celestial  sphere. 
Where  wonders  Paul  was  rapt  to  hear, 
Or  Hades  blest,  where  souls  elect 

Full  bliss  expect. 

Secure  your  love  while  here  below. 
And  dying  you'll  to  Jesus  go : 
Paul  long  lov'd  Jesus'  face  to  view. 

For  that  long  you. 

Bless'd  Jesus'  boundless  Hiss  divine. 
In  you  a  miniature  will  shine, 
Glory  for  glory,  beam  for  beam 

Will  on  you  stream. 

A  crown,  a  throne  on  God's  right  hand, 
Where  saints  their  robes  of  ray  expand, 
Where  saints  are  kings,  and  on  their  state 
High  Angels  wait. 

Such  blessings  on  the  saints  attend. 
When  Jesus-like  they  Heaven  ascend. 
The  Lamb  of  joys,  the  boundless  Spring, 

They'll  ever  sing. 


XVIII.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     339 

Death  our  forerunner  is,  and  guides 
To  Zion  where  the  Lamb  abides  ; 
There  saints  enjoy  ecstatic  rest 

In  mansions  blest. 
Thomas  Ken 


THE  EIGHTEENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER 
TRINITY 

CHRIST  had  two  several  wrongs  to  bear 
Two  sets  of  foes  to  flee  ; 
The  Pharisee  drew  nigh  to  snare, 
To  sneer,  the  Sadducee. 

And  still  the  Lord  two  classes  sees 

His  Gospel's  spread  oppose  ; 
Professing  hypocrites  are  these ; 

And  sensual  worldlings  those. 

Both  to  the  temple  take  their  way, 

And  join  the  Saviour's  walk, 
But  chiefly  still,  that  Christ  they  may 

Entangle  in  His  talk. 

Both  hear  His  gracious  words  of  truth, 
Then  straight  their  grace  pervert ; 

These  a  self-righteous  pride  to  soothe, 
And  those  a  carnal  heart. 

Each  to  the  other  bears  a  grudge ; 

These  harshly  censure  those ; 
And  catch  what  words  of  Christ  they  judge 

To  silence  put  their  foes. 


340  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Both  the  true  Lord  alike  reject, 

Alike  from  grace  far  off ; 
Though  these  a  coming  Christ  expect, 

And  those  Messiah  scoff. 


With  both  the  Lord  aHke  is  wroth  ; 

Both  shall  to  shame  be  driven  : 
Lord,  help  me,  while  I  mix  with  both. 

To  shun  of  each  the  leaven. 

Lord  Kinloch 


WEEK  OF  THE   EIGHTEENTH  SUNDAY 
AFTER  TRINITY 

MONDAY 

CLEARLY  I  see. 
My  God,  how  Thou,  in  every  fate  Thou 
send'st, 
Only  by  different  wile  of  love  intend'st 
To  draw  to  Thee. 

In  joy's  bright  hour, 
Thou'dst  have  us  bring  our  flowers  to  Thee  for 

gift; 
Close  to  Thy  side  our  place  of  refuge  shift. 

When  tempests  lour. 

But  each  event 
We  construe  wrong  ;  joy  to  the  festive  room 
Sends  us  from  Thee  ;  woe  to  a  sullen  gloom. 

In  our  frail  tent. 


XVIII.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     341 

Like  children  we, 
Whom  in  the  market-place  their  fellows  try, 
With  varied  speech  ;  but  who,  perverse  or  shy, 

To  nought  agree. 

The  merry  pipe 
Is  tuned  to  rouse  them  ;  but  they  will  not  dance  ; 
Sad  tales  are  told,  yet  ne'er,  for  one  mischance, 

A  tear  they  wipe. 

E'en  thus,  and  more. 
Our  folly.  Lord,  tow'rds  Thee ;  the  bliss  bestowed 
Finds  us  unthankful ;  and  love's  sadder  mode. 

Hard  to  the  core. 

Lord,  take  away 
This  childish  mind,  and  give  a  healthier  tone : 
Make,  both  by  beam  and  cloud,  each  heart  Thine  own, 

For  all  the  day. 

Lord  Kinloch 


TUESDAY 

I  SAY  to  thee,  do  thou  repeat 
To  the  first  man  thou  mayest  meet 
In  lane,  highway,  or  open  street — 

That  he,  and  we,  and  all  men  move 

Under  a  canopy  of  love 

As  broad  as  the  blue  sky  above ; 

That  doubt  and  trouble,  fear  and  pain, 
And  anguish,  are  but  shadows  vain, 
That  death  itself  shall  not  remain. 

That  weary  deserts  we  may  tread, 
A  dreary  labyrinth  may  thread. 
Through  dark  ways  underground  be  led ; 


342   CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Yet,  if  we  will  one  Guide  obey, 
The  dreariest  path,  the  darkest  way 
Shall  issue  out  in  heavenly  day ; 

And  we,  on  divers  shores  now  cast, 
Shall  meet,  our  perilous  voyage  past. 
All  in  our  Father's  house  at  last. 

And  ere  thou  leave  him,  say  thou  this, 
Yet  one  word  more — they  only  miss 
The  winning  of  that  final  bliss, 

Who  will  not  count  it  true,  that  Love, 
Blessing,  not  cursing,  rules  above. 
And  that  in  it  we  live  and  move. 

And  one  thing  further  make  him  know, — 
That  to  believe  these  things  are  so, 
This  firm  faith  never  to  forego. 

Despite  of  all  that  seems  at  strife 
With  blessing,  all  with  curses  rife, 
That  this  t's  blessing,  this  is  life. 

Richard  Chenevix  Trench 


WEDNESDAY 

WIDELY  midst  the  slumbering  nations 
Darkness  holds  his  despot  sway ; 
Cruel  in  his  habitations. 

Ruthless  o'er  his  prostrate  prey. 
Star  of  Bethlehem  ! 
Rise  and  beam  in  conquering  day  ! 

Light  of  Life,  our  sole  Defender, 
Rise  with  healing  on  Thy  wing  ; 
Rise  in  all  Thy  soothing  splendour ; 


XVIII.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     343 

Rise,  and  earth  with  joy  will  sing ! 

Israel's  glory  ! 
Gentiles  call  Thee  "  Lord  and  King  !" 

Christians,  haste  !  the  morn  is  breaking ; 

Darkness  wheels  his  downward  flight ; 
But,  your  polished  armour  taking, 

Stand,  nor  quit  the  waning  fight. 
Great  Redeemer ! 

Guard  us  with  Thy  shield  of  light. 

Onward,  Christians,  onward  pressing. 

Triumph  in  the  Crucified  ! 
Endless  honour,  rest  and  blessing, 
Wait  you  at  His  radiant  side. 
Cease  not,  cease  not, 
Till  you  see  Him  glorified. 

William  Henry  Havergal 


THURSDAY 

THEY  are  all  gone  into  the  world  of  light ! 
And  I  alone  sit  lingering  here  ; 
Their  very  memory  is  fair  and  bright. 
And  my  sad  thoughts  doth  clear : — 

It  glows  and  glitters  in  my  cloudy  breast. 

Like  stars  upon  some  gloomy  grove. 
Or  those  faint  beams  in  which  this  hill  is  drest. 
After  the  sun's  remove. 

I  see  them  walking  in  an  air  of  glory. 
Whose  light  doth  trample  on  my  days : 

My  days,  which  are  at  best  but  dull  and  hoary, 
Mere  glimmerings  and  decays. 


344  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Oh  holy  Hope !  and  high  Humihty, 

High  as  the  heavens  above  ! 
These  are  your  walks,  and  you  have  show'd  them 
me, 

To  kindle  my  cold  love. 

Dear,  beauteous  Death  !  the  jewel  of  the  just, 

Shining  nowhere,  but  in  the  dark ; 
What  mysteries  do  lie  beyond  thy  dust. 

Could  man  outlook  that  mark  ! 

He  that  hath  found  some  fledged  bird's  nest,  may 
know 

At  first  sight,  if  the  bird  be  flown  ; 
But  what  fair  well  or  grove  he  sings  in  now. 

That  is  to  him  unknown. 

And  yet,  as  Angels  in  some  brighter  dreams 

Call  to  the  soul,  when  man  doth  sleep ; 
So  some  strange  thoughts  transcend  our  wonted 
themes 
And  into  glory  peep. 

Henry  Vaughan 


FRIDAY 

O  PIETY  !  O  heavenly  Piety ! 
She  is  not  rigid  as  fanatics  deem. 
But  warm  as  Love,  and  beautiful  as  Hope. 

Prop  of  the  weak,  the  crown  of  humbleness, 
The  clue  of  doubt,  the  eyesight  of  the  blind. 
The  heavenly  robe  and  garniture  of  clay  ! 


XVIII.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     345 

Clad  in  that  raiment,  ever  white  and  pure, 
The  wayside  mire  is  harmless  to  defile, 
And  rudest  storms  sweep  impotently  by. 

Shown  by  that  clue,  the  doubtful  path  is  clear, 
The  intricate  snares  and  mazes  of  the  world 
Are  all  unlabyrinth'd  and  bright  as  day. 

Sweet  Piety  !  divinest  Piety  ! 
She  has  a  soul  capacious  as  the  spheres, 
A  heart  as  large  as  all  humanity. 

Who  to  his  dwelling  takes  that  visitant. 
Has  a  perpetual  solace  in  all  pain, 
A  friend  and  comforter  in  every  grief. 

The  noblest  domes,  the  haughtiest  palaces. 
That  know  not  her,  have  ever  open  gates 
Where  misery  may  enter  at  her  will. 

But  from  the  threshold  of  the  poorest  hut 
Where  she  sits  smihng,  sorrow  passes  by. 
And  owns  the  spell  that  robs  her  of  her  sting. 

Charles  Mackay 


SATURDAY 

LORD,  canst  Thou  condescend  indeed  to  dwell 
In  such  a  frail,  ungracious  heart  as  mine  ? 
Then  from  that  heart  the  idol  self  expel. 

And  make  it  Thine,  O  Lord,  and  only  Thine. 
When  Israel  chose  Thy  mercy  as  their  theme, 

The  glory  shone  most  brightly  from  Thy  face ; 
When  we  are  lowest  in  our  own  esteem. 

Our  hearts  become  Thy  favour'd  dwelHng-place ; 


346  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

When  grace  alone  is  sought,  and  self  is  lost, 
Our  souls  will  then  reflect  Thine  image  most. 

"  Christ  in  us  "  ! — who  can  reach  the  depth  and 
height, 

The  length  and  breadth  of  such  a  gift  as  this  ? 
In  weakness  He  is  strength,  in  darkness  light. 

Amidst  the  world's  distress  an  untold  bliss, 
Treasures  of  wisdom  to  a  simple  mind, 

Riches  of  grace  the  contrite  heart  to  bless, 
A  clear  and  open  vision  to  the  blind. 

And  to  the  naked  soul  a  comely  dress ; 
Compared  with  this  all  other  gifts  are  dim : 
Poor  in  ourselves,  yet  we  have  all  in  Him. 

With  "  Christ  in  us,"  our  glorious  hope  is  sure ; 

Dwelling  in  Him  the  true  and  Uving  way. 
Our  souls  are  safe,  and  to  the  end  endure ; 

Through  faith  all  sin  and  guilt  on  Him  we  lay : 
See  through  the  veil  our  great  High  Priest  within, 

Prepared  His  own  redeemed  ones  to  bless  ; 
Himself  made  sin  for  us.  Who  knew  no  sin. 

That  we  might  perfect  righteousness  possess ; 
While  by  His  Spirit,  dwelling  in  our  hearts. 
His  peace.  His  joy.  His  glory  He  imparts. 

John  Streatfeild 


THE  NINETEENTH  SUNDAY  AFTER 
TRINITY 

IF  we  scan 
The  wide  or  narrow  circle  of  our  friends 
And  weigh  their  worth,  we  find,  alas  !  that  all. 
Even  in  the  glance  of  charity,  possess 


XIX.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     347 

Some  spot ;  and  if  we  haply  mark  ourselves, 

We  are  not  perfect !     E'en  humanity, 

Like  the  spoilt  picture  of  some  master-mind, 

Hath  much  it  may  admire,  but  prominent 

The  fault  obtrudes  !     And  as  when  Lucifer 

Poured  the  dark  drop  at  Eden's  fountain-head. 

He  poisoned  every  stream ;  e'en  so  when  Eve 

The  cup  of  disobedience  tasted  there, 

She  gave  to  all  her  children  naughtiness. 

Which  only  death  can  end  !     The  silent  grave 

Is  Nature's  crucible  !  our  bodies  thence. 

Crumbled  to  dust,  and  yet,  new  modelled  there. 

Shall  rise  in  pristine  beauty,  like  the  Lord, 

If,  in  the  Lord,  on  earth  regenerate ! 

Oh  !  let  this  truth  teach  tenderness  to  all ! 

And  when  we  mark  unlovely  tempers  rise, 

When  in  our  brother,  in  God's  likeness  made, 

And  more  especially  in  one  new-born, 

We  see  the  shadow  of  the  tempter  flash 

O'er  features  God  made  good,  oh,  let  us  ask, — 

Not  of  the  tempter,  nor  of  his  own  pride, 

Indignant  to  reply, — but  at  the  throne. 

The    mercy   throne,   where    sits    the    Prince    of 

Peace, 
Let  us,  all  conscious  we  are  liable 
To  the  same  temper,  the  same  tempest  too. 
Ask  larger  measure  of  that  heavenly  grace 
Which  calms,  and  loves,  and  wins  ! 

Ebenezer  Palmer 


348  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

WEEK  OF  THE  NINETEENTH  SUNDAY 
AFTER  TRINITY 

MONDAY 

"  T    OVE  God,  love  truth,  love  virtue,  and  be 

^     happy"; 
These  were  the  words  first  uttered  in  the  ear 
Of  every  being  rational  made,  and  made 
For  thought,  or  word,  or  deed  accountable. 
Most  men  the  first  forgot,  the  second  none. 
Whatever  path  they  took,  by  hill  or  vale, 
By  day  or  night,  the  universal  wish. 
The  aim  and  sole  intent  was  happiness. 
But,  erring  from  the  heaven-appointed  path, 
Strange  tracts  indeed  they  took   through  barren 

wastes. 
And  up  the  sandy  mountain  climbing  toiled, 
Which  pining  lay  beneath  the  curse  of  God, 
And  nought  produced.     Yet  did  the  traveller  look 
And  point  his  eye  before  him  greedily. 
As  if  he  saw  some  verdant  spot,  where  grew 
The  heavenly  flower,  where  sprang  the  well  of  life, 
Where  undisturbed  felicity  reposed  ; 
Though  Wisdom's  eye  no  vestige  could  discern, 
That  happiness  had  ever  passed  that  way. 

Wisdom  was  right,  for  still  the  terms  remained 
Unchanged,  unchangeable — the  terms  on  which 
True  peace  was  given  to  man,  unchanged  as  God, 
Who,  in  His  own  essential  nature,  binds 
Eternally  to  virtue  happiness. 
Nor  lets  them  part  through  all  His  universe. 

Robert  Pollok 


XIX.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     349 


TUESDAY 

I  STOOD  and  watched  my  ships  go  out, 
Each,  one  by  one,  unmooring  free, 
What  time  the  quiet  harbour  filled 
With  flood-tide  from  the  sea. 

The  first  that  sailed, — her  name  was  Joy ; 

She  spread  a  smooth  and  ample  sail, 
And  eastward  strove,  with  bending  spars, 

Before  the  singing  gale. 

Another  sailed, — her  name  was  Hope  ; 

No  cargo  in  her  hold  she  bore, 
Thinking  to  find  in  western  lands 

Of  merchandise  a  store. 

The  next  that  sailed, — her  name  was  Love ; 

She  showed  a  red  flag  at  the  mast, — 
A  flag  as  red  as  blood  she  showed, 

And  she  sped  south  right  fast. 

The  last  that  sailed, — her  name  was  Faith ; 

Slowly  she  took  her  passage  forth, 
Tacked  and  lay  to — at  last  she  steered 

A  straight  course  for  the  north. 

My  gallant  ships  they  sailed  away 
Over  the  shimmering  summer  sea ; 

I  stood  at  watch  for  many  a  day. 
But  only  one  came  back  to  me. 

For  Joy  was  caught  by  Pirate  Pain ; 

Hope  ran  upon  a  hidden  reef; 
And  Love  took  fire,  and  foundered  fast 

In  'whelming  seas  of  grief. 


350  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Faith  came  at  last,  storm-beat  and  torn ; 

She  recompensed  me  all  my  loss, 
For  as  a  cargo  safe  she  brought 

A  Crown,  linked  to  a  Cross ! 


WENESDAY 

NIGHT  turns   to   day   when   sullen   darkness 
lowers, 
And  heaven  and  earth  are  hid  from  sight ; 
Cheer  up,  cheer  up,  ere  long  the  opening  flowers. 
With  dewy  eyes  shall  shine  in  light ! 

Winter  wakes  spring,  when  icy  blasts  are  blowing 
O'er  frozen  lakes,  through  naked  trees ; 

Cheer  up,  cheer  up,  all  beautiful  and  glowing. 
May  floats  in  fragrance  on  the  breeze. 

Storms  die  in  calms,  when  over  land  and  ocean 

Rolls  the  loud  chariot  of  the  wind  ; 
Cheer  up,  cheer  up,  the  voice  of  wild  commotion 

Proclaims  tranquillity  behind. 

War  ends  in  peace  :  though  dread  artillery  rattle, 
And  ghastly  corses  load  the  ground ; 

Cheer  up,  cheer  up;  where  groan'd  the  field  of 
battle 
The  corn  shall  deck  the  peaceful  ground. 

Toil  brings  repose ;  with  noontide  fervours  beating, 
When  droop  thy  temples  o'er  thy  breast ; 

Cheer  up,  cheer  up,  gray  twilight  cool  and  fleeting. 
Wafts  on  its  wing  the  hour  of  rest. 


XIX.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     351 

Death  springs  to  life,  though  sad  and  brief  thy 
story, 
Thy  years  all  spent  in  grief  and  gloom  ; 
Look  up,  look  up,  eternity  and  glory 
Dawn  through  the  terrors  of  the  tomb. 

James  Montgomery 


THURSDAY 

RISE !  for  the  day  is  passing, 
And  you  lie  dreaming  on  ; — 
The  others  have  buckled  their  armour 

And  forth  to  the  field  have  gone. 
A  place  in  the  ranks  awaits  you, 

Each  man  has  some  part  to  play ; 
The  past  and  the  future  are  nothing 
In  the  face  of  the  stern  to-day. 

Rise  from  your  dreams  of  the  future — 

Of  gaining  some  hard-fought  field, 
Of  storming  some  airy  fortress. 

Or  bidding  some  giant  yield. 
Your  future  has  deeds  of  glory, 

Of  honour  (God  grant  it  may  !) 
But  your  arm  will  never  be  stronger, 

Or  the  need  more  great,  than  to-day. 

Rise  !  if  the  past  detains  you. 

Her  sunshine  and  storms  forget ; 
No  chains  so  unworthy  to  hold  you 

As  those  of  a  vain  regret. 
Sad  or  bright,  she  is  lifeless  for  ever ; 

Cast  her  phantom  arms  away, 
Nor  look  back,  save  to  learn  the  lesson 

Of  a  nobler  strife  to-day. 


352  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Rise  !  for  the  day  is  passing ; 

The  low  sound  you  scarcely  hear, 
Is  the  enemy  marching  to  battle — 

Arise,  for  the  foe  is  near ! 
Stay  not  to  sharpen  your  weapons, 

Or  the  hour  will  strike  at  last, 
When,  from  dreams  of  a  coming  battle, 

You  may  wake  to  find  it  past ! 


FRIDAY 

NOW  weary  men  are  tending  to  their  home, 
The  sun  is  going  down  on  mount  and  sea ; 
Where  shall  the  way-worn  pilgrim  cease  to  roam. 
Or  find  on  earth  a  resting-place  but  Thee  ? 

This  is  the  pilgrim's  way-side  hospital. 

With  oil  and  wine  meet  for  his  sorrowing  breast ; 

From  thence  Thy  loving  accents  seem  to  call, — 
"Come  unto  Me,  ye  weary,  and  find  rest." 

This  shall  be  fire  to  warm  his  world-chilled  heart, 
A  light  to  lighten  in  the  darkest  gloom, — 

In  Hfe  or  death  in  Thee  to  have  his  part, — 
Here  shall  the  homeless  traveller  find  a  home. 

Home-loving  men,  amid  their  homes  at  ease. 
They  are  of  all  most  homeless  ;  and  where'er 

The  palmer  strays,  each  man  on  earth  he  sees 
Is  but  a  stranger  and  a  sojourner. 

And  village-homes  that  seem  so  still  and  bright 
By  golden  streams  and  meadows  rich  and  fair, 

And  castellated  holds  on  mountain  height 

That  catch  the  sun's  last  gleam,  rais'd  high  in  air, — 


XIX.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     353 

All  these  unreal  things  appear  to  me 
The  melancholy  shadow  of  a  shade ; 

Or  cloudy  pageants  in  the  setting  sun, 

That  seem  so  fair  because  so  soon  to  fade. 

The  sun  is  going  down,  and  bids  good  night 
To   homeward  wandering  men,  and  field,  and 
town; 
Thou  art  my  light  in  darkness,  and  more  bright 
When  this  sun  fails, — a  star  that  goes  not  down. 

Isaac  Williams 


SATURDAY 

'HTIS  not  the  temple's  shrine 
i       Which  holy  makes  the  place ; 
Where'er  God  is,  is  power  divine ; 
Where'er  God  helps,  is  grace. 

The  bush  on  Horeb's  peak, 
Burning,  and  unconsumed, 
The  prophet  bent  to  reverence  meek, 
For  God  the  spot  illumed. 

The  sword  at  night  beheld, 
By  Jordan's  swelling  bed. 
The  captain  of  the  host  compelled 
To  own  the  Lord  Who  led. 

Think  of  thy  God  as  near  ; 
And,  once  His  presence  found. 
Be  sure,  whate'er  around  appear. 
Thou  tread'st  on  holy  ground. 

Put  off,  O  man,  thy  shoes, 

With  which  thou  earth  hast  trod ; 


354  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Thee  from  earth's  dust  and  toil  unloose 
And  worship  pay  thy  God. 

So  shalt  thou  find  a  light, 
To  burn,  and  still  endure  ; 
A  leader  of  all-conquering  might, 
To  make  thy  Canaan  sure. 

Lord  Kinloch 


THE  TWENTIETH  SUNDAY  AFTER 
TRINITY 

SOLDIER,  go— but  not  to  claim 
Mouldering  spoils  of  earth-born  treasure, 
Not  to  build  a  vaunting  name. 

Not  to  dwell  in  tents  of  pleasure. 
Dream  not  that  the  way  is  smooth. 

That  thy  path  is  strewn  with  roses ; 
Turn  no  wistful  eye  of  youth 

Where  the  sunny  beam  reposes  : — 
Thou  hast  sterner  work  to  do, 
Hosts  to  cut  thy  passage  through  : 
See  the  plain  behind  thee  burning  ! 
Forward  ! — there  is  no  returning. 

Soldier,  rest — but  not  for  thee 

Spreads  the  world  her  downy  pillow ; 
On  the  rock  thy  couch  must  be, 

While  around  thee  chafes  the  billow ; 
Thine  must  be  a  watchful  sleep. 

Longer  than  a  restless  waking : 
Such  a  watch  as  thou  dost  keep 

Brooks  no  moment  of  forsaking. 


XX.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY       355 

Sleep,  as  on  the  battle-field, 
Girded — grasping  sword  and  shield  : 

Foes  thou  canst  not  name  or  number 

Steal  upon  thy  broken  slumber. 


Soldier,  rise  !  the  war  is  done ; 

Lo,  both  death  and  hell  are  flying ; 
'Twas  thy  Lord  the  battle  won ; 

Jesus  vanquish'd  them  by  dying. 
Pass  the  stream — before  thee  lies 

All  the  conquer'd  land  of  glory  j — 
Hark  ! — what  songs  of  rapture  rise  ! 
These  proclaim  the  Victor's  story. 
Soldier,  lay  thy  weapons  down. 
Sheath  the  sword,  and  take  the  crown  : 
Triumph  !  all  thy  foes  are  banished ; 
Death  is  slain  ;  and  earth  has  vanished. 

Charlotte  Elizabeth  Tonna 


WEEK  OF  THE  TWENTIETH  SUNDAY 
AFTER  TRINITY 

MONDAY 

WHAT  had  I  been  if  Thou  wert  not  ? 
What  were  I  now  if  Thou  wert  gone  ? 
Anguish  and  fear  were  then  my  lot, 
In  this  wide  world  I  stood  alone ; 
Whate'er  I  loved  were  safe  no  more, 

The  future  were  a  dark  abyss, 
To  whom  could  I  my  sorrows  pour, 
If  Thee  my  laden  heart  should  miss  ? 


356  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

But  when  Thou  mak'st  Thy  presence  felt, 

And  when  the  soul  has  grasped  Thee  right, 
How  fast  the  dreary  shadows  melt 

Beneath  Thy  warm  and  living  light : 
In  Thee  I  find  a  nobler  birth, 

A  glory  o'er  the  world  I  see, 
And  Paradise  returns  to  earth, 

And  blooms  again  for  us  in  Thee. 

Thou  strong  and  loving  Son  of  Man, 

Redeemer  from  the  bonds  of  sin, 
'Tis  Thou  the  living  spark  dost  fan 

That  sets  my  heart  on  fire  within. 
Thou  openest  Heaven  once  more  to  men. 

The  soul's  true  home,  Thy  Kingdom,  Lord, 
And  I  can  trust  and  hope  again. 

And  feel  myself  akin  to  God. 

Brethren,  go  forth  beside  all  ways, 

The  wanderer  greet  with  outstretch'd  hand. 
And  call  him  back  who  darkly  strays, 

And  bid  him  join  our  gladsome  band. 
That  Heaven  hath  stoop'd  to  earth  below, 

Proclaim  the  glad  news  everywhere, 
That  all  may  learn  our  faith,  and  know 

They  too  may  find  an  entrance  there. 

Lyra  Germanica 


TUESDAY 

BLEST  pair  of  Sirens,  pledges  of  Heaven's  joy. 
Sphere-born  harmonious  sisters,  Voice  and 
Verse, 
Wed  your  divine  sounds,  and  mix'd  power  employ 
Dead  things  with  inbreathed  sense  able  to  pierce ; 


XX.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY      357 

And  to  our  high-raised  fantasy  present 
That  undisturbed  song  of  pure  concent, 
Aye  sung  before  the  sapphire-colour'd  throne 
To  Him  that  sits  thereon, 
With  saintly  shout  and  solemn  jubilee ; 
Where  the  bright  Seraphim,  in  burning  row, 
Their  loud  uplifted  angel  trumpets  blow ; 
And  the  Cherubic  host,  in  thousand  quires. 
Touch  their  immortal  harps  of  golden  wires. 
With  those  just  Spirits  that  wear  victorious  palms, 
Hymns  devout  and  holy  psalms 
Singing  everlastingly  : 
That  we  on  earth,  with  undiscording  voice. 
May  rightly  answer  that  melodious  noise. 
As  once  we  did,  till  disproportion'd  sin 
Jarr'd  against  nature's  chime,  and  with  harsh  din 
Broke  the  fair  musick  that  all  creatures  made 
To  their  great  Lord,  Whose  love  their  motion  sway'd 
In  perfect  diapason,  whilst  they  stood 
In  first  obedience  and  their  state  of  good. 
O  may  we  soon  again  renew  that  song. 
And  keep  in  tune  with  Heaven,  till  God  ere  long 
To  His  celestial  concert  us  unite, 
To  live  with  Him,  and  sing  in  endless  morn  of 
light ! 

John  Milton 

WEDNESDAY 

BEHOLD  the  Sun  from  eastern  gloom  arise 
Circling  the  heavens  upon  his  glittering  way : 
Transparent  glory  flashes  from  the  skies 

And  gladsome  earth  exults  to  greet  the  day  ! 

E'en  thus,  where  souls  of  men  are  plunged  in  night, 
I  view  the  Church's  Lord  in  splendour  shine ! 


3S8  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

O  how  He  sheds  the  Spirit's  quickening  light 
And  bathes  the  human  heart  in  tints  divine ! 

Yea,  as  the  gold  narcissus,  the  red  rose, 
The  snowdrop,  white  as  winter  nearly  done, 

The  violet  and  each  blushing  flower  that  blows. 
Draw  each  their  dye  from  the  pellucid  Sun, 

So  from  the  shining  of  the  Incarnate's  Face, 
Grow  Martyrs'  courage  and  the  tearful  care 

Of  penitents,  rich  Love  and  Virgins'  grace — 
The   countless   gifts  that  Saints   have  won  by 
prayer ! 

Never  may  Sin  with  dark  embowering  leaves 
O'ershade  and  blanch  my  soul  to  deathlike  hue  : 

But  some  rich  glow,  such  as  Thy  light  achieves 
In  Thine  elect,  work  in  me,  Saviour,  too ! 

G.  T.  S.  Farquhar 


THURSDAY 

AS  men,  for  fear  the  stars  should  sleep  and  nod, 
And  trip  at  night,  have  spheres  supplied ; 
As  if  a  star  were  duller  than  a  clod, 

Which  knows  his  way  without  a  guide  : 

Just  so  the  other  Heaven  they  also  serve, 

Divinity's  transcendent  sky : 
Which  with  the  edge  of  wit  they  cut  and  carve. 

Reason  triumphs,  and  faith  lies  by. 

Could  not  that  Wisdom,  which  first  broach'd  the 
wine, 

Have  thicken'd  it  with  definitions  ? 
And  jagg'd  His  seamless  coat,  had  that  been  fine. 

With  curious  questions  and  divisions  ? 


XX.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY      359 

But  all  the  doctrine,  which  He  taught  and  gave, 
Was  clear  as  Heaven,  from  whence  it  came. 

At  least  those  beams  of  truth,  which  only  save, 
Surpass  in  brightness  any  flame. 

Love  God,  and  love  your  neighbour.     Watch  and 
pray. 

Do  as  you  would  be  done  unto. 
O  dark  instructions,  e'en  as  dark  as  day  ! 

Who  can  these  Gordian  knots  undo  ? 

But  He  doth  bid  us  take  His  blood  for  wine. 

Bid  what  He  please ;  yet  I  am  sure. 
To  take  and  taste  what  He  doth  there  design, 

Is  all  that  saves,  and  not  obscure. 

Then  burn  thy  Epicycles,  foolish  man  j 

Break  all  thy  spheres,  and  save  thy  head ; 

Faith  needs  no  staff  of  flesh,  but  stoutly  can 
To  Heaven  alone  both  go,  and  lead. 

George  Herbert 


FRIDAY 

THY  ways,  O  Lord,  are  unlike  ours ; 
Thy  thoughts  surpass  our  own ; 
And  Angels,  when  they  scan  their  powers, 
Fall,  wing-veiled,  round  the  Throne. 

Resistance  seems  a  noble  gift 

To  reason's  haughty  view ; 
And  passions,  which  proud  self  uplift, 

Re-echo  it  as  true. 

But  He,  Whose  will  was  crucified 
Throughout  His  sad  career- 


36o  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Whom  earth  abhorr'd  and  man  denied 

One  sympathetic  tear, 

On  bearing  outrage,  wrong  and  hate. 
This  Heaven-born  lesson  taught. 

That  souls  are  not  divinely  great 
Except  with  meekness  fraught. 

Submission,  tender,  mild,  and  deep. 

Not  sullen,  stern,  or  sad. 
But  gentle,  as  when  Angels  weep 

While  they  watch  o'er  the  bad, — 

Such  the  meek  virtue  Christ  commends. 

Believer,  as  divine ; 
And,  if  thy  knee  to  Jesu  bends. 

That  lowly  grace  be  thine. 

In  Christ  the  lamb  and  lion  met. 
Their  graces  were  combined  ; 

And  blest  are  those  who  follow  yet 
The  path  He  left  behind. 

Robert  Montgomery 


SATURDAY 

THERE  is  a  Sabbath  won  for  us, 
A  Sabbath  stored  above, 
A  service  of  eternal  calm, 
An  altar-rite  of  love. 

There  is  a  Sabbath  won  for  us. 
Where  we  shall  ever  wait 

In  mute  or  voiceful  ministries 
Upon  the  Immaculate. 


XXI    SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     361 

There  shall  transfigured  souls  be  filled 

With  Christ's  Eternal  Name, 
Dipped,  like  bright  censers,  in  the  sea 

Of  molten  glass  and  flame. 

Yet  set  not  in  thy  thoughts  too  far 

Our  Heaven  and  Earth  apart, 
Lest  thou  should'st  wrong  the  Heaven  begun 

Already  in  thy  heart. 

Though  Heaven's  above  and  Earth's  below 

Yet  are  they  but  one  state. 
And  each  the  other  with  sweet  skill 

Doth  interpenetrate. 

Yea,  many  a  tie  and  office  blest. 

In  earthly  lots  uneven. 
Hath  an  immortal  place  to  fill 

And  is  a  root  of  Heaven. 

And  surely  Sundays  bright  and  calm. 

So  calm,  so  bright  as  this. 
Are  tastes  imparted  from  above 

Of  higher  sabbath  bliss. 

Frederick  William  Faber 


THE  TWENTY-FIRST  SUNDAY  AFTER 
TRINITY 

GIRD  thy  loins  up,  Christian  soldier  ; 
Lo  !  thy  Captain  calls  thee  out : 
Let  the  danger  make  thee  bolder  ; 
War,  in  weakness ;  dare,  in  doubt. 


362  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Buckle  on  thy  heavenly  armour ; 

Make  thou  no  inglorious  peace ; 
Let  thy  courage  wax  the  warmer 

As  thy  foes  and  fears  increase. 

Bind  thy  golden  girdle  round  thee, 

Truth — to  keep  thee  firm  in  fight ; 
Never  shall  the  foe  confound  thee 

While  the  truth  maintains  the  right. 
Righteousness  within  thee  rooted 

May  appear  to  take  thy  part ; 
But  let  righteousness  imputed 

Be  the  breastplate  of  thy  heart. 

Though  to  speak  thou  be  not  able, 

Always  pray,  and  never  rest. 
Prayer's  a  weapon  for  the  feeble ; 

Weakest  souls  can  wield  it  best. 
Ever  on  thy  Captain  calling. 

Make  thy  worst  condition  known  ; 
He  shall  hold  thee  up  when  falling, 

Or  shall  lift  thee  up  when  down. 

JosiAH  Hart 


WEEK  OF  THE  TWENTY-FIRST  SUNDAY 
AFTER  TRINITY 

MONDAY 

OH  !  Thou,  that  driest  the  mourner's  tear. 
How  dark  this  world  would  be, 
If,  when  deceived  and  wounded  here, 
We  could  not  fly  to  Thee  ! 


XXI.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     363 

The  friends,  who  in  our  sunshine  live, 

When  winter  comes,  are  flown ; 
And  he  who  has  but  tears  to  give 

Must  weep  those  tears  alone. 

But  Thou  wilt  heal  the  broken  heart. 
Which,  like  the  plants  that  throw 

Their  fragrance  from  the  wounded  part, 
Breathes  sweetness  out  of  woe ; 

When  joy  no  longer  soothes  or  cheers. 

And  even  hope,  that  threw 
A  moment's  sparkle  o'er  our  tears. 

Is  dimmed  and  vanished  too. 

Oh  !  who  could  bear  life's  stormy  doom. 

Did  not  Thy  Word  of  love 
Come  brightly  bearing,  through  the  gloom, 

A  peace-branch  from  above  ? 

Then  sorrow,  touched  by  Thee,  grows  bright 

With  more  than  rapture's  ray  ; 
As  darkness  shows  us  worlds  of  light 

We  could  not  see  by  day. 

Thomas  Moore 


TUESDAY 

STRONG  Son  of  God,  immortal  Love, 
Whom  we,  that  have  not  seen  Thy  face, 
By  faith,  and  faith  alone,  embrace. 
Believing  where  we  cannot  prove ! 

Thine  are  these  orbs  of  light  and  shade  ; 

Thou  madest  life  in  man  and  brute  ; 

Thou  madest  Death  ;  and,  lo  !  Thy  foot 
Is  on  the  skull  which  Thou  hast  made. 


364  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Thou  wilt  not  leave  us  in  the  dust : 
Thou  madest  man,  he  knows  not  why ; 
He  thinks  he  was  not  made  to  die ; 

And  Thou  hast  made  him  :  Thou  art  just. 

Thou  seemest  human  and  divine 
The  highest,  holiest  manhood  Thou  : 
Our  wills  are  ours,  we  know  not  how ; 

Our  wills  are  ours,  to  make  them  Thine. 

Our  Httle  systems  have  their  day ; 

They  have  their  day,  and  cease  to  be ; 

They  are  but  broken  lights  of  Thee, 
And  Thou,  O  Lord !  art  more  than  they. 

We  have  but  faith  :  we  cannot  know, 
For  knowledge  is  of  things  we  see  ; 
And  yet  we  trust  it  comes  from  Thee, 

A  beam  in  darkness  :  let  it  grow. 

Let  knowledge  grow  from  more  to  more, 
But  more  of  reverence  in  us  dwell ; 
That  mind  and  soul,  according  well, 

May  make  one  music,  as  before. 

Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson 


WEDNESDAY 

LORD,  Thou  art  mine,  and  I  am  Thine, 
If  mine  I  am  :  and  Thine  much  more, 
Than  I  or  ought,  or  can  be  mine. 
Yet  to  be  Thine,  doth  me  restore  ; 
So  that  again  I  now  am  mine. 
And  with  advantage  mine  the  more. 


XXI.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     365 

Since  this  being  mine,  brings  with  it  Thine 
And  Thou  with  me  dost  Thee  restore. 
If  I  without  Thee  would  be  mine, 
I  neither  should  be  mine  nor  Thine. 


Lord,  I  am  Thine,  and  Thou  art  mine  : 
So  mine  Thou  art,  that  something  more 
I  may  presume  Thee  mine,  than  Thine. 
For  Thou  didst  suffer  to  restore 
Not  Thee,  but  me,  and  to  be  mine : 
And  with  advantage  mine  the  more, 
Since  Thou  in  death  wast  none  of  Thine, 
Yet  then  as  mine  didst  me  restore. 

O  be  mine  still !  still  make  me  Thine ; 

Or  rather  make  no  Thine  and  mine  ! 
George  Herbert 


THURSDAY 

GIVE  us  Thy  blessed  peace,  God  of  all  might ! 
Without  it,  we  must  weary  in  the  fight ; 
Without  it,  our  weak  service  soon  must  cease : 
Give  us  Thy  blessed  peace. 

Life's  day  is  sultry,  and  its  evening  chill, 
With  little  left  to  cheer ;  yet  the  heart  still 
Cleaveth  to  dust,  nor  can  obtain  release, 
Excepting  through  Thy  peace. 

Lord,  give  us  peace,  let  it  refresh  anew 
The  deeply  tempted,  yet  the  tried  and  true, 
Lest  earthly  spirits  foil  us  in  the  strife, 
Of  this  too  earnest  life. 


7,66  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

The  fathers,  loved  by  Thee,  this  blessing  knew  : 
Their  children  in  the  desert  need  it  too. 
Give  peace,  and  hope  to  lay  our  weapons  down, 
And  gain  the  victor's  crown. 

Our  life  below,  until  the  journey  close. 
Is  often  stormy,  and  beset  with  foes ; 
Lord,  in  the  shadow  of  Thy  peace  give  rest. 
When  we  are  most  opprest. 

And  whensoever  death  itself  appear. 
Then  may  Thy  Angel  messengers  be  near, 
And  bear  us  hence,  to  share,  when  troubles  cease. 
Thine  everlasting  peace ! 

Jane  Borthwick 


FRIDAY 

OH,  were  I  ever  what  I  am  sometimes. 
And  never  more    what   I   sometimes   have 
been  ; 
For  oft  my  spirit,  singing  as  it  climbs, 

Can  make  of  winter  bleak  a  summer  green  : 
And  yet  sometimes,  and  in  the  sunniest  weather, 
My  work  and  I  have  fallen  out  together. 

Now,  earth  seems  drossy.  Heaven  the  land  of  gold, 
Anon  Heaven  fabulous,  substantial  earth ; 

And  sometimes  in  my  God  I  can  be  bold. 

And  say,  "What  hopes   are   mine   in   right  of 
birth?" 

And  yet  sometimes  at  former  faith  I  wonder, 

And  fears  I  once  defied  I  now  sink  under. 


XXI.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     367 

Lord,  rid  me  of  this  natural  waywardness, 
Unworthy  one  who  is  a  child  of  Thine ; 

Calm  let  me  be  when  rudest  winds  distress. 
Nor  lose  occasion  if  the  day  be  fine ; 

But  faithful  to  the  light  of  sacred  reason. 

One  heart  be  mine  in  every  changing  season. 

Thomas  Toke  Lynch 


SATURDAY 

THAT  which  we  dare  invoke  to  bless ; 
Our  dearest  faith  ;  our  ghastliest  doubt ; 
He,  They,  One,  All;  within,  without; 
The  Power  in  darkness  Whom  we  guess ; 

I  found  Him  not  in  world  or  sun. 

Or  eagle's  wing,  or  insect's  eye  ; 

Nor  thro'  the  questions  men  may  try, 
The  petty  cobwebs  we  have  spun  : 

If  e'er  when  faith  had  fall'n  asleep, 
I  heard  a  voice  "  believe  no  more  " 
And  heard  an  ever-breaking  shore 

That  tumbled  in  the  Godless  deep ; 

A  warmth  within  the  breast  would  melt 
The  freezing  reason's  colder  part, 
And  like  a  man  in  wrath  the  heart 

Stood  up  and  answer'd  "  I  have  felt." 

No,  like  a  child  in  doubt  and  fear  : 
But  that  blind  clamour  made  me  wise ; 
Then  was  I  as  a  child  that  cries. 

But,  crying,  knows  his  father  near; 


368   CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

And  what  I  am  beheld  again 

What  is,  and  no  man  understands ; 
And  out  of  darkness  came  the  hands 

That  reach  thro'  nature,  moulding  men. 

Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson 


THE  TWENTY-SECOND   SUNDAY   AFTER 
TRINITY 

"  /^  O   thou   thy   way ! "     It   is   thy  Lord  Who 
VJ     speaks ; 

He  trod  the  narrow  way  in  all  its  length, 
And  His  firm  hand  and  all  enduring  strength 

Were  never  since  denied  to  him  who  seeks. 

Go  thou  thy  way,  wherever  it  may  lead  : 

Through  greenest  pastures  or  on  thorny  road  ; 
With  gladsome  heart,  or  bent  beneath  a  load 

Of  anxious  cares,  or  sick  with  sorest  need. 

The  birds  that  wanton  in  the  summer  air 
Are  vext  by  no  forebodings,  such  as  go 
To  fret  thy  spirit ;  but  they  trust,  and  so 

They  sing  to  tell  us  of  a  Father's  care. 

From  sin's  enticements  see  thou  walk  aloof; 

And  if  they  come,  to  Christ  for  succour  fly ; 

With  Him  thou  shalt  the  powers  of  hell  defy  : 
The  armour  of  His  love  is  evil-proof. 

Let  not  past  follies  keep  thy  spirit  sore  ; 

Sin  sorrowed  for  and  conquered  should  impart 
A  deeper  wisdom  and  a  purer  heart ; 

So,  go  in  peace,  and  see  thou  sin  no  more. 


XXII.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     369 

Room  for  thy  soul  to  grow,  to  rise  above 
These  common  things  of  earth  ?     Oh,  hush  thy 

strife  ! 
'Tis  lowly  work  well  done  that  makes  of  life 

A  holy  sacrifice  of  patient  love. 

Go  thou  thy  way  until  the  end  shall  be, 
Leaving,  in  faith,  thy  fate  for  God  to  cast ; 
And  so  stand  steadfast  in  thy  lot  at  last, 

For  ever  in  thy  God,  and  God  in  thee. 

Philip  Southern 


WEEK  OF  THE  TWENTY-SECOND 
SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY 

MONDAY 

LORD  !  how  oft  shall  I  forgive  ? 
O  my  soul !  dost  thou  not  live, 
Every  day,  and  every  hour. 
On  thy  Father's  Love,  and  Power? 
Still  vouchsafed  thee,  tho'  with  sin 
Days  will  end,  as  days  begin ; 
Life,  with  all  in  life  bestowed. 
Justly  forfeit  to  thy  God  ? 

Count  the  puises  of  tny  heart. 
Search  thro'  memory  every  part ; 
All  the  thousand  nameless  ways. 
In  which  God,  thro'  all  thy  days, 
Hath  thy  life  sustain'd  and  blest, 
Giving  thee  the  thing  that's  best ; 
Tho'  alas  !  that  life  has  proved, 
All  unworthy  to  be  loved  : — 


370  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

When  thou  hast  the  sum  of  all 
Blessings  that,  uncounted,  fall 
Round  thy  path  ;  the  light  and  love, 
Waiting  on  thee  from  above, 
All  by  boundless  Mercy  brought, 
Into  judgment  entering  not ; 
Thou  some  faint  reply  from  Heav'n 
Hast,  how  man  should  be  forgiven. 

John  S.  B.  Monsell 


TUESDAY 

IN  the  Apocalypse  sublime 
The  new-created  world  shall  see 
Eternity  embracing  time, 

Space  swallowed  in  infinity. 
Each  sun,  each  star,  each  heavenly  orb, 
Shall  one  pervading  light  absorb. 

No  temple  there,  for  boundless  Heaven 
Shall  be  a  temple ;  not  a  prayer 

Shall  from  the  trembling  soul  be  riven, 
For  all  shall  be  devotion  there  ; 

All  day,  no  darkness,  no  eclipse, 

In  that  divine  Apocalypse. 

This  world,  these  cycles,  mortal  life 
And  mortal  death,  are  but  the  scene 

Of  shifting,  surging,  struggling  strife, 
The  powers  of  ill  and  good  between  ; 

Though  in  that  strife  so  rough  and  rude 

We  see  the  conquering  march  of  good. 

But  in  the  glorious  time  revealed 

Each  form  of  ill  shall  fade  and  fall ; 
And  every,  every  wound  be  healed. 


XXII.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     371 

And  God,  our  God  be  all  in  all — 
All  light,  all  love,  all  God,  all  good, 
All  infinite  beatitude. 

Sir  John  Bowring 


WEDNESDAY 

AND  though  some  impious  wits  do  questions 
move. 
And  doubt  if  souls  immortal  be,  or  no ; 
That  doubt  their  immortality  doth  prove, 
Because  they  seem  immortal  things  to  know. 

For  he  who  reasons  on  both  parts  doth  bring. 
Doth  some  things  mortal,  some  immortal  call ; 

Now,  if  himself  were  but  a  mortal  thing. 
He  could  not  judge  immortal  things  at  all. 

For  when  we  judge,  our  minds  we  mirrors  make ; 

And  as  those  glasses  which  m.aterial  be. 
Forms  of  material  things  do  only  take ; 

For  thoughts  or  minds  in  them  we  cannot  see ; 

So  when  we  God  and  Angels  do  conceive. 
And  think  of  truth,  which  is  eternal  too ; 

Then  do  our  minds  immortal  forms  receive, 
Which,  if  they  mortal  were,  they  could  not  do. 

And  as  if  beasts  conceiv'd  what  reason  were. 
And  that  conception  should  distinctly  show, 

They  should  the  name  of  reasonable  bear ; 
For,  without  reason,  none  could  reason  know : 


So  when  the  soul  mounts  with  so  high  a  wing, 
As  of  eternal  things  she  doubts  can  move  ! 


372  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

She  proofs  of  her  eternity  doth  bring, 

E'en  when  she  strives  the  contrary  to  prove. 

For  e'en  the  thought  of  immortahty, 

Being  an  act  done,  without  the  body's  aid, 

Shows  that  herself  alone  could  move  and  be, 
Although  the  body  in  the  grave  were  laid. 
Sir  John  Davies 


THURSDAY 

OGOD,  Whose  thunder  shakes  the  sky, 
Whose  eye  this  atom  globe  surveys. 
To  Thee,  my  only  rock,  I  fly. 
Thy  mercy  in  Thy  justice  praise. 

The  mystic  mazes  of  Thy  will, — 
The  shadows  of  celestial  light, — 

Are  past  the  power  of  human  skill, 
But  what  the  Eternal  acts  is  right. 

Oh,  teach  me  in  the  trying  hour 
When  anguish  swells  the  dewy  tear. 

To  still  my  sorrows,  own  Thy  power. 
Thy  goodness  love,  Thy  justice  fear. 

If  in  this  bosom  aught  but  Thee 

Encroaching  sought  a  boundless  sway, 

Omniscience  could  the  danger  see, 
And  mercy  look  the  cause  away. 

Then  why,  my  soul,  dost  thou  complain  ? 

Why  drooping  seek  the  dark  recess  ? 
Shake  off  the  melancholy  chain, 

For  God  created  all  to  bless. 


XXIT.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     373 

The  gloomy  mantle  of  the  night, 
Which  on  my  sinking  spirit  steals, 

Will  vanish  at  the  morning  light, 

Which  God,  my  East,  my  Sun,  reveals. 

Thomas  Chatterton 


FRIDAY 

OH,  bright  and  happy  Olivet, 
Where  once  the  Master  trod, 
From  whence  He  first  went  up  on  high- 
True  Man  and  Very  God. 

Incarnate  Christ  in  human  flesh. 

We  wait  till  Thou  appear. 
With  glory  crowned,  and  saints  around 

Caught  up  in  joy  and  fear. 

Oh,  bright  and  happy  Olivet, 
Once  more  shalt  Thou  behold 

The  blessed  form  of  God's  own  Son, 
As  by  those  Angels  told. 

And  then  shall  David's  throne  be  set. 

And  Israel  too  shall  be 
Amid  the  happy  throng  that  shall 

The  true  Messiah  see. 

Oh,  bright  and  happy  Olivet, 
How  glad  that  day  and  fair, 

When  Jew  and  Gentile  in  accord 
His  love  shall  then  declare. 

For  when  He  comes,  they  shall  return 

With  joy  upon  their  head. 
For  Israel  shall  accepted  be 

As  living  from  the  dead ! 


374  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Oh,  bright  and  happy  Olivet, 

The  time  now  draweth  near 
When  Israel,  God's  beloved,  shall  know 

Contrition's  sweetest  tear. 

For  Christ  shall  come  to  earth  again, 

His  scattered  flock  to  save  ; 
And  on  the  throne  of  David  reign, 

Victorious  o'er  the  grave. 

Tom  L.  Brown 


SATURDAY 

CONTEMPLATE  all  this  work  of  Time, 
The  giant  labouring  in  his  youth ; 
Nor  dream  of  human  love  and  truth. 
As  dying  Nature's  earth  and  hme ; 

But  trust  that  those  we  call  the  dead 
Are  breathers  of  an  ampler  day 
For  ever  nobler  ends.     They  say, 

The  solid  earth  whereon  we  tread 

In  tracts  of  fluent  heat  began. 

And  grew  to  seeming-random  forms. 
The  seeming  prey  of  cyclic  storms. 

Till  at  the  last  arose  the  man ; 

Who  throve  and  branch'd  from  clime  to  clime. 

The  herald  of  a  higher  race. 

And  of  himself  in  higher  place, 
If  so  he  type  this  work  of  time 

Within  himself,  from  more  to  more ; 
Or,  crown'd  with  attributes  of  woe 
Like  glories,  move  his  course,  and  show 

That  life  is  not  as  idle  ore, 


XXIII.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     375 

But  iron  dug  from  central  gloom, 
And  heated  hot  with  burning  fears, 
And  dipt  in  baths  of  hissing  tears, 

And  batter'd  with  the  shocks  of  doom 

To  shape  and  use.     Arise  and  fly 
The  reeling  Faun,  the  sensual  feast ; 
Move  upward,  working  out  the  beast, 

And  let  the  ape  and  tiger  die. 

Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson 


THE    TWENTY-THIRD    SUNDAY    AFTER 
TRINITY 

WHEN  across  the  inward  thought 
Comes  the  emptiness  of  life, 
And  it  seems  that  earth  has  nought 
But  a  vain  and  weary  strife : 

All  to  do,  and  nothing  done, 

Useless  days  fast  fleeting  by, 
Wanderings  many,  progress  none, 

Faltering  steps  by  fountains  dry. 

Shall  we,  in  that  hapless  mood, 

Fainting  fall  beside  the  way  ? 
Help  us.  Giver  of  all  good  ! 

Teach  Thy  wretched  ones  to  pray. 

Thou  that  with  the  Father  art. 

One  in  power,  in  glory  One, 
Yet  within  the  trusting  heart 

Bearest  witness  with  the  Son  : 


376  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Oh,  forgive  our  faithless  mind, 
Raise  us  from  our  low  estate, 

Breathe  in  us  the  will  to  find 
Higher  life  in  small  and  great ! 

Give  us  watchful  eyes  and  clear. 
Purged  from  the  scales  of  sense, 

Seeing  still  the  Master  near. 
And  the  City  far  from  hence. 

Higher  lead  our  love  and  faith, 

Lower  our  humility ; 
Let  the  words  that  Jesus  saith 

Be  illumined  all  by  Thee  ! 

And  in  them  let  us  discern, 
Calming  all  our  sinful  strife, 

While  our  hearts  within  us  burn. 

Him,  the  Word,  the  Truth,  the  Life ! 

H.  G.  TOMKINS 


WEEK  OF  THE  TWENTY-THIRD  SUNDAY 
AFTER  TRINITY 

MONDAY 

HOW  should  I  praise  Thee,  Lord  !  how  should 
my  rhymes 
Gladly  engrave  Thy  love  in  steel, 
If  what  my  soul  doth  feel  sometimes. 
My  soul  might  ever  feel ! 

Although  there  were  some  forty  heavens,  or  more, 
Sometimes  I  peer  above  them  all ; 


XXIII.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     377 

Sometimes  I  hardly  reach  a  score, 
Sometimes  to  hell  I  fall. 

O  rack  me  not  to  such  a  vast  extent ; 
Those  distances  belong  to  Thee ; 
The  world's  too  little  for  Thy  tent, 
A  grave  too  big  for  me. 

Wilt  Thou  meet  arms  with  man,  that  Thou  dost 
stretch 
A  crumb  of  dust  from  heaven  to  hell  ? 
Will  great  God  measure  with  a  wretch  ? 
Shall  he  Thy  stature  spell  ? 

O  let  me,  when  Thy  roof  my  soul  hath  hid, 
O  let  me  roost  and  nestle  there : 
Then  of  a  sinner  Thou  art  rid, 
And  I  of  hope  and  fear. 

Yet  take  Thy  way ;  for  sure  Thy  way  is  best 
Stretch  or  contract  me  Thy  poor  debtor : 
This  is  but  tuning  of  my  breast, 
To  make  the  music  better. 

Whether  I  fly  with  Angels,  fall  with  dust. 
Thy  hands  made  both,  and  I  am  there. 
Thy  power  and  love,  my  love  and  trust, 
Make  one  place  everywhere. 

George  Herbert 

TUESDAY 

YOU  say,  but  with  no  touch  of  scorn. 
Sweet-hearted,    you,    whose    light-blue 
eyes 
Are  tender  over  drowning  flies 
You  tell  me,  doubt  is  Devil-born. 


378  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

I  know  not :  one  indeed  I  knew 
In  many  a  subtle  question  versed, 
Who  touch'd  a  jarring  lyre  at  first, 

But  ever  strove  to  make  it  true  : 

Perplext  in  faith,  but  pure  in  deeds, 
At  last  he  beat  his  music  out. 
There  lives  more  faith  in  honest  doubt, 

Believe  me,  than  in  half  the  creeds. 

He  fought  his  doubts  and  gather'd  strength. 
He  would  not  make  his  judgment  blind, 
He  faced  the  spectres  of  the  mind 

And  laid  them  :  thus  he  came  at  length 

To  find  a  stronger  faith  his  own ; 

And  Power  was  with  him  in  the  night. 
Which  makes  the  darkness  and  the  light, 

And  dwells  not  in  the  light  alone, 

But  in  the  darkness  and  the  cloud, 
As  over  Sinai's  peaks  of  old, 
While  Israel  made  their  gods  of  gold, 

Altho'  the  trumpet  blew  so  loud. 

Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson 


WEDNESDAY 

SPIRIT  Divine  !  attend  our  prayers, 
And  make  our  hearts  Thy  home  : 
Descend  with  all  Thy  gracious  powers 
O  come,  great  Spirit,  come ! 

Come  as  the  light — to  us  reveal 

Our  emptiness  and  woe ; 
And  lead  us  in  those  paths  of  life 

Where  all  the  righteous  go. 


XXIII.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     379 

Come  as  the  fire — and  purge  our  hearts 

Like  sacrificial  flame ; 
Let  our  whole  soul  an  offering  be 

To  our  Redeemer's  name. 

Come  as  the  dew — and  sweetly  bless 

This  consecrated  hour ; 
May  barrenness  rejoice  to  own 

Thy  fertilizing  power. 

Come  as  the  dove— and  spread  Thy  wings, 

The  wings  of  peaceful  love ; 
And  let  thy  Church  on  earth  become 

Blest  as  the  Church  above. 

Come  as  the  wind — with  rushing  sound 

And  Pentecostal  grace ; 
That  all  of  women  born  may  see 

The  glory  of  Thy  face. 

Spirit  Divine  !  attend  our  prayers, 
Make  this  lost  world  Thy  home  ; 

Descend  with  all  Thy  gracious  powers ; 
O  come,  great  Spirit,  come  ! 

Andrew  Reed 


THURSDAY 

THAT  early  love  of  creatures,  yet  unmade, 
To  frame  the  world  the  Almighty  did  per- 
suade : 
For  love  it  was  that  first  created  light. 
Moved  on  the  waters,  chased  away  the  night 
From  the  rude  chaos,  and  bestowed  new  grace 
On  things  disposed  of  to  their  proper  place, 


38o  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Some  to  rest  here,  and  some  to  shine  above  : 
Earth,  sea,   and   heaven,  were  all   th'   effects   of 

love. 
And  love  would  be  returned  but  there  was  none 
That  to  themselves  or  others  yet  were  known. 
The  world  a  palace  was  without  a  guest. 
Till  one  appears  that  must  excel  the  rest ; 
One  like  the  Author,  whose  capacious  mind 
Might  by  the  glorious  work  the  Maker  find ; 
Might    measure    heaven,   and    give   each   star   a 

name, 
With  art  and  courage  the  rough  ocean  tame ; 
Over  the  globe  with  swelling  sails  might  go, 
And  that  'tis  round  by  his  experience  know ; 
Make  strongest  beasts  obedient  to  his  will, 
And  serve  his  use  the  fertile  earth  to  till. 
When  by  His  word  God  had  accomplished  all, 
Man  to  create  He  did  a  council  call : 
Employed  His  hand  to  give  the  dust  He  took 
A  graceful  figure  and  majestic  look  ; 
With  His  own  breath  conveyed  into  his  breast 
Life  and  a  soul  fit  to  command  the  rest ; 
Worthy  alone  to  celebrate  His  name 
For  such  a  gift,  and  tell  from  whence  it  came. 
Birds  sing  His  praises  in  a  wilder  note, 
But  not  with  lasting  numbers,  and  with  thought — 
Man's  great  prerogative. 

Edmund  Waller 


FRIDAY 

IF  thou  art  one  whose  cry  is  Liberty, 
Pass  not  the  portal  of  our  hallovv'd  shrine ; 
We  in  a  holier  freedom  would  be  free. 

If  thou  in  wealth  or  honour  lov'st  to  shine, 


XXIII.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     381 

To  build  in  cedars,  or  at  ease  recline, 
No  holy  awe  thy  tongue  and  foot  shall  hold 

In  those  lov'd  haunts,  where  ancient  discipline 
Keeps  watch  amid  her  treasures  manifold, 
And  welcomes  to  stern  walls  and  dim  cathedrals  old. 

At  her  command  the  apostolic  key 

Opens  the  solemn  doors ;  in  speaking  stone 

Her  glories  far  withdraw,  where  none  can  see, 
Seeking  the  Infinite  in  secret  known. 
And  tell   of  wonders   which    surround    His 
throne ; 

Her  carv'd  embroideries,  which  retire  aloof, 
Are  ancient  virtues,  seen  by  God  alone 

And  His  good  Angels,  mysteries  learn'd  by  proof, 
And  prayers  which  hide  from  man  o'er  heaven's 
embowering  roof. 

Ye  cloistral  shades,  and  Angel-haunted  cells, 
Chantries,  and  tuneful  roofs,  and  altars  old. 

Wherein  communicable  Godhead  dwells  ! 
Let  your  dread  spirit  fill  me,  my  hand  hold. 
And  every  thought  to  your  obedience  mould ; 

While  through  the  avenue  of  number'd  years. 
As  through  a  pillar'd  vista,  I  behold 

Where  Christ  for  me  the  bleeding  burden  bears, 
Till  all  my  heart  be  love,  and  soul-constraining  fears. 

Isaac  Williams 


SATURDAY 

WE  do  not  dread  the  darkest  night, 
If  we  but  know  the  path  we  tread ; 
The  longest  way  is  smooth  and  light, 
If  home  beyond  us  lift  its  head. 


382  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Oh  !  turn  not  in  the  hours  of  sin 

The  thoughts  of  sinners  to  the  grave  : 

Where  proffer'd  love  may  fail  to  win, 
Oh  !  deem  not  terror  strong  to  save  ! 

But  when  the  cares  of  earth  molest, 
Her  rosy  wreaths  to  fade  begin, 

Point  to  your  own  unruffled  breast, 
And  tell  them  of  the  sweets  within. 

Persuade  them  how  each  pilgrim  hour 
Is  brightened  by  a  Saviour's  love ; 

How  longs  the  soul  like  summer  flower 
To  view  unveiled  His  face  above. 

Bid  them  expect,  as  some  dear  friend, 
The  hour  that  calls  their  soul  away ; 

And  death  with  hoHer  thoughts  to  blend, 
Than  the  dark  grave  or  cold  decay. 

Away  with  these — away  with  fear. 

That  deadly  fear,  which  sinners  know ; 

Then,  fairer  is  the  placid  bier 

Than  all  the  joys  possessed  below. 

W.  Sewell 


THE  TWENTY-FOURTH  SUNDAY  AFTER 
TRINITY 

JAIRUS  knew  it  now  ! 
To  his  fond  cries  no  breath  of  answer 
came; 
Cold  was  his  darling's  brow, 
And  never  a  pulse  moved  in  her  silent  frame. 


XXIV.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     383 

Therefore  with  many  a  tear 
They  bade  the  Saviour  draw  no  longer  near, 
And,  when  He  questioned  if  the  soul  were  fled, 
Laughed  with  a  bitter  laugh,  knowing  the  maid 
was  dead. 

But  still  He  sought  the  child 
And,  dreading  only  lest  by  unbeHef 

Their  hearts  might  be  beguiled. 
Put  each  one  forth,  who  aired  fictitious  grief, 

And,  taking  with  Him  those. 
Who  nournished  faith  and  her  divine  repose, 
Called  to  the  damsel's  heedless  form  : — Arise  ! 
And  she  arose  with  recognition  in  her  eyes. 

Behold  again  to-day 
The  Pastor  fills  Jairus'  mournful  part ! 

For  oft  his  children  stray 
From  healthful  paths  and,  though  with  loving  art 

He  calls  them  back,  no  word 
Responsive  comes,  and  they,   who  so  have 

erred. 
Wander  past  hope  ;  their  spirit's  life  is  fled. 
And  heavy  is  his  heart,  knowing  their  souls  are 
dead. 

But,  though  his  toil  is  vain, 
Christ,  Who  of  old  baflled  the  hungry  tomb, 

Can  rend  the  Devil's  chain, 
And,  rescuing  his  victims  from  their  doom, 

Win  them  to  righteousness. 
O  pray  we  then  our  Lord  to  come  and  bless 
Each  lost  and  guilty  soul  with  second  birth 
And  rouse  a  grateful  joy  within  the  Church  on 
earth ! 

G.  T.  S.  Farquhar 


384  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

WEEK  OF  THE  TWENTY-FOURTH 
SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY 

MONDAY 

WHO  loves  not  knowledge ?     Who  shall  rail 
Against  her  beauty  ?     May  she  mix 
With  men  and  prosper  !     Who  shall  fix 
Her  pillars  ?     Let  her  work  prevail. 

But  on  her  forehead  sits  a  fire : 

She  sets  her  forward  countenance 
And  leaps  into  the  future  chance, 

Submitting  all  things  to  desire. 

Half-grown  as  yet,  a  child,  and  vain — 
She  cannot  fight  the  fear  of  death. 
What  is  she,  cut  from  love  and  faith, 

But  some  wild  Pallas  from  the  brain 

Of  Demons  ?  fiery-hot  to  burst 

All  barriers  in  her  onward  race 

For  power.     Let  her  know  her  place  ; 

She  is  the  second,  not  the  first. 

A  higher  hand  must  make  her  mild 
If  all  be  not  in  vain  ;  and  guide 
Her  footsteps,  moving  side  by  side 

With  wisdom,  like  the  younger  child : 

For  she  is  earthly  of  the  mind, 

But  Wisdom  heavenly  of  the  soul. 
O,  friend,  who  camest  to  thy  goal 

So  early,  leaving  me  behind, 


XXIV.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY    385 

I  would  the  great  world  grew  like  thee, 
Who  grewest  not  alone  in  power 
And  knowledge,  but  by  year  and  hour 

In  reverence  and  in  charity. 

Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson 


TUESDAY 

O  SACRED  Providence,  Who  from  end  to  end 
Strongly  and  sweetly  movest !  shall  I  write 
And  not  of  Thee,  through  Whom  my  fingers  bend 
To  hold  my  quill  ?  shall  they  not  do  Thee  right  ? 

Of  all  the  creatures  both  in  sea  and  land 
Only  to  man  Thou  hast  made  known  Thy  ways, 
And  put  the  pen  alone  into  his  hand. 
And  made  him  secretary  of  Thy  praise. 

Man  is  the  world's  high  priest :  he  doth  present 

The  sacrifice  for  all ;  while  they  below 

Unto  the  service  mutter  an  assent. 

Such  as  springs  use  that  fall,  and  winds  that  blow. 

He  that  to  praise  and  laud  Thee  doth  refrain, 
Doth  not  refrain  unto  himself  alone. 
But  robs  a  thousand  who  would  praise  Thee  fain. 
And  doth  commit  a  world  of  sin  in  one. 

Wherefore,  most  sacred  Spirit,  I  here  present 
For  me  and  all  my  fellows  praise  to  Thee : 
And  just  it  is  that  I  should  pay  the  rent. 
Because  the  benefit  accrues  to  me. 

Thou  art  in  small  things  great,  nor  small  in  any, 
Thy  even  praise  can  neither  rise,  nor  fall. 


386  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Thou  art  in  all  things  one,  in  each  thing  many : 
For  Thou  art  infinite  in  one  and  all. 

George  Herbert 


WEDNESDAY 

WHEN  man  to  Godlike  being  sprung, 
How  sweet  the  glorious  gift  he  found  ! 
While  Heaven  with  notes  of  gladness  rung, 

And  Eden's  beauty  smiled  around  : 
Where'er  the  stranger  bends  his  view, 
'Tis  wondrous  all,  divinely  new. 

By  hands  unseen  the  virgin  soil 

Is  with  unlaboured  plenty  crowned ; 

But  soon  must  Adam  bow  to  toil, 

And  dress  the  late  spontaneous  ground  : 

For  oh  !  too  soon  the  thorn  appears — 

Too  soon  he  blends  his  bread  with  tears. 

E'en  thus  when  man  is  born  anew. 

The  Spirit  to  his  being  given, 
Lo  !  a  new  Eden  starts  to  view, 

While  Angel  harps  rejoice  in  Heaven  : 
'Tis  wondrous  all,  divinely  bright, 
And  the  new  creature  walks  in  light. 

Then,  too,  the  heart's  unlaboured  soil 
Is  with  mysterious  plenty  crowned ; 

But  soon  he  finds  'tis  meet  to  toil. 

And  dress  with  tears  the  wayward  ground  : 

Too  soon,  alas  !  the  thorn  appears. 

And  Heaven's  own  bread  is  mixed  with  tears. 


XXIV.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY    387 

Yet  onward,  is  no  scene  displayed 

Whose  bright  beginnings  ne'er  decay  ? 

Must  every  prospect  seem  to  fade  ? 

Must  clouds  o'ercast  the  new-born  day  ? 

Forth  let  the  new  creation  burst, — 

No  changes  then,  all  clouds  dispersed. 

No  thorns  that  paradise  infest — 

No  bitter  tears  its  feast-days  leaven — 

No  toils  disturb  its  hallowed  rest : 

Unlaboured  plenty  lasts  in  Heaven  : 

Then,  oh  !  let  faith,  let  patience  here, 

With  hope  unmurmuring,  persevere. 

Thomas  Grinfield 


THURSDAY 

FALL  not  out  upon  the  way ; 
Short  it  is,  and  soon  will  end ; 
Better  far  to  fly  the  fray. 

Than  to  lose  the  friend. 

Christ  hath  sent  you,  two  and  two, 
With  a  mandate  to  return  : 
Can  ye  meet  the  Master's  view. 
If  with  wrath  ye  burn  ? 

If  thy  brother  seemeth  slow, 
Jeer  not,  but  thy  quickness  slack ; 
Rather  than  divided  go. 

Keep  the  wearier  track. 

Quit  not,  as  for  shorter  line, 
Ancient  ways  together  trod  ; 
Joy  to  read  at  once  the  sign 
Pointing  on  to  God. 


388  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Teach  each  other,  as  ye  walk, 
How  to  sing  the  Angels'  song  ; 
Fill  the  time  with  homeward  talk, 
Then  'twill  not  be  long. 

Gently  deal  with  those  who  roam, 
Silent  as  to  wanderings  past ; 
So,  together  at  your  home 
All  arrive  at  last. 

Lord  Kinloch 


FRIDAY 

A  THOUSAND  oracles  divine 
Their  common  beams  unite ; 
That  sinners  may  with  Angels  join 
To  worship  God  aright : 

To  praise  a  Trinity  adored 

By  all  the  hosts  above ; 
And  one  thrice-holy  God  and  Lord 

Through  endless  ages  love. 

Triumphant  host !  they  never  cease 

To  laud  and  magnify 
The  triune  God  of  holiness. 

Whose  glory  fills  the  sky ; 

Whose  glory  to  this  earth  extends, 
When  God  Himself  imparts 

And  the  whole  Trinity  descends 
Into  our  faithful  hearts. 

By  faith  the  choirs  above  we  meet ; 

And  challenge  them  to  sing 
Jehovah,  on  His  curtain'd  seat. 

Our  Maker  and  our  King. 


XXIV.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY    389 

But  God  made  flesh  is  wholly  ours, 

And  asks  eur  nobler  strain ; 
The  Father  of  celestial  powers, 

The  Friend  of  earth-born  man. 

Ye  Seraphs,  nearest  to  the  Throne 

All  rapt  in  deep  amaze, 
On  us,  still  exiles  here,  look  down 

And  join  us  in  your  praise. 

The  King,  Whose  glorious  face  ye  see, 

For  us  His  crown  resigned  ; 
Yea,  Fulness  of  the  Deity, 

He  died  for  all  mankind. 

Charles  Wesley 


SATURDAY 

THE  waves,  the  winds  of  Circumstance  ! 
What  arm  their  strength  can  stem  ? 
What  struggling  mortal  has  a  chance 

To  bind  or  buffet  them  ? 
Against  these  rapids,  who  can  swim, 

And  not  be  hurled  away 
Over  Niagara's  boiling  brim. 
The  torrent  of  to-day  ? 

Ah  !  trust  not,  man,  to  thine  own  strength  ; 

Ah  !  boast  not  of  thy  power ; 
Thy  best,  in  all  its  breadth  and  length, 

Will  break  in  any  hour. 
Let  but  Temptation  touch  the  line 

Electrical  within. 
That  spark  will  spring  the  secret  mine 

Of  nature's  ready  sin  ! 


390  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

If  some  sun-chance,  and  some  moon-change 

Of  passion's  light  and  heat, 
Within  Occasion's  comet-range, 

By  bad  conjunction  meet. 
Behold,  a  deluge  !  to  o'erwhelm 

The  wisdom  and  the  worth 
Of  mortal's  noblest  spirit-realm. 

The  pattern-man  of  earth  ! 

O  tower  of  strength !  O  God,  O  Friend  ! 

Defend  us  by  Thy  power; 
Till  we  have  reached  our  trial's  end. 

Uphold  us  every  hour  ! 
Each  step  we  venture  in  advance 

Is  full  of  woes  unknown. 
If  Thou  enfranchise  Circumstance, 

And  leave  us  all  alone  ! 

Martin  F.  Tupper 


THE  TWENTY-FIFTH  SUNDAY  AFTER 
TRINITY 

YE  heavens,  oh  haste  your  dews  to  shed. 
Ye  clouds,  rain  gladness  on  our  head. 
Thou  earth,  behold  the  time  of  grace, 
And  blossom  forth  in  righteousness. 

O  living  Sun,  with  joy  break  forth. 
And  pierce  the  gloomy  clefts  of  earth  ; 
Behold,  the  mountains  melt  away 
Like  wax  beneath  Thine  ardent  ray  ! 

O  Life-dew  of  the  Churches,  come, 
And  bid  this  arid  desert  bloom  ! 


XXV.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY     391 

The  sorrows  of  Thy  people  see, 
And  take  our  human  flesh  on  Thee. 

Refresh  the  parch'd  and  drooping  mind, 
The  broken  Hmb  in  mercy  bind ; 
Us  sinners  from  our  guilt  release. 
And  fill  us  with  Thy  heavenly  peace. 

O  wonder  !  night  no  more  is  night ! 
Comes  then  at  last  the  long'd-for  light  ? 
Ah  yes,  Thou  shinest,  O  true  Sun, 
In  Whom  are  God  and  man  made  one  ! 

Lyra  Germanica 


WEEK  OF  THE  TWENTY-FIFTH  SUNDAY 
AFTER  TRINITY 

MONDAY 

WHEREFORE  shrink,  and  say,  "  'Tis  vain  ; 
In  their  hour  hell-powers  must  reign ; 
Vainly,  vainly  would  we  force 
Fatal  error's  torrent  course ; 
Earth  is  mighty,  we  are  frail ; 
Faith  is  gone  and  hope  must  fail." 

Yet  along  the  Church's  sky 
Stars  are  scattered  pure  and  high ; 
Yet  her  wasted  gardens  bear 
Autumn  violets  sweet  and  rare — 
Relics  of  a  spring-time  clear. 
Earnest  of  a  bright  new  year. 


392   CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Israel  yet  hath  thousands  sealed, 
Who  to  Baal  never  kneeled ; 
Seize  the  banner,  spread  its  fold! 
Seize  it  with  no  faltering  hold  ! 
Spread  its  foldings  high  and  fair; 
Let  all  see  the  Cross  is  there ! 

What,  if  to  the  trumpet's  sound 
Voices  few  come  answering  round  ? 
Scarce  a  votary  swell  the  burst 
When  the  anthem  peals  at  first  ? 
God  hath  sown,  and  He  will  reap ; 
Growth  is  slow  when  roots  are  deep ; 

He  will  aid  the  work  begun, 
For  the  love  of  His  dear  Son ; 
He  will  breathe  in  their  true  breath 
Who,  serene  in  prayer  and  faith. 
Would  our  dying  embers  fan,. 
Bright  as  when  their  glow  began. 

Lyra  Apostolica 


TUESDAY 

WATCHER,  who  watch'st  by  the  bed  of  pain, 
While  the  stars  sweep  on  in  their  midnight 
train ; 
Stifling  the  tear  for  thy  loved  one's  sake ; 
Holding  thy  breath,  lest  his  sleep  should  break ; 
In  thy  loneliest  hours,  there  is  a  helper  nigh, 
"  Jesus  of  Nazareth  passeth  by." 

Stranger,  afar  from  thy  native  land. 
Whom  no  one  takes  with  a  brother's  hand, 
Table  and  hearthstone  are  glowing  free, 
Casements  are  sparkhng,  but  not  for  thee ; 


XXV.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY    393 

There  is  One  Who  can  tell  of  a  home  on  high, 
"  Jesus  of  Nazareth  passeth  by." 

Sad  one,  in  secret,  bending  low, 

A  dart  in  thy  breast,  that  the  world  may  not  know, 

Striving  the  favour  of  God  to  win, — 

Asking  His  pardon  for  days  of  sin  ; 

Press  on,  press  on,  with  thy  earnest  cry 

"Jesus  of  Nazareth  passeth  by." 

Mourner  who  sitt'st  in  the  churchyard  lone. 
Scanning  the  lines  on  that  marble  stone, — 
Plucking  the  weeds  from  thy  children's  bed, 
Planting  the  myrtle,  the  rose  instead — 
Look  up,  look  up,  with  thy  tearful  eye, 

"  Jesus  of  Nazareth  passeth  by." 

Fading  one,  with  the  hectic  streak, 
With  thy  vein  of  fire,  and  thy  burning  cheek, 
Fear'st  thou  to  tread  the  darkened  vale  ? 
Look  unto  One,  Who  can  never  fail. 
He  hath  trod  it  Himself,  He  will  hear  thy  sigh, 
"  Jesus  of  Nazareth  passeth  by." 

Lydia  Huntley  Sigourney 


WEDNESDAY 

YEA,  watch  and  wait  a  little  while — 
The  weary  strife  is  ending ; 
Yet  hold  the  red-cross  banner  fast. 

While  hope  and  fear  are  blending. 
Sure  pledge  of  victory,  though  it  wave 
O'er  many  a  lov'd  disciple's  grave. 


394  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

A  little  while,  a  little  while, 
And  ye  shall  see  it  streaming 

From  north  to  south,  from  east  to  west, 
Like  lightning  flash,  far  gleaming, 

Sign  of  the  Son  of  Man  in  Heaven, 

Pledge  of  His  instant  advent  given  ! 

Then,  cheerly,  brethren,  watch  and  pray, 
Though  tempest  gloom  have  shrouded 

Full  many  a  star  that  brightly  shone. 
And  yet  shall  shine  unclouded. 

Jerusalem,  with  robe  of  light 

And  starry  crown,  shall  yet  be  bright. 

For  deem  ye  not,  oh,  deem  ye  not, 
The  holy  Church  forsaken — 

Or  built  upon  th'  eternal  rock. 
Her  sure  foundation  shaken ; 

Nay,  for  the  word  can  never  fail, 

*'  The  gates  of  hell  shall  not  prevail." 

Jane  E.  Leeson 


THURSDAY 

OF  God,  to  thy  doings,  a  time  there  is  sent. 
Which  endeth  with  time  that  in  doing  is 
spent ; 
For  time  is  itself,  but  a  time  for  a  time, 
Forgotten  full  soon,  as  the  time  of  a  chime. 

In  springtime  we  rear,  we  do  sow,  and  we  plant ; 
In  summer  get  victuals,  lest  after  we  want ; 
In  harvest  we  carry  in  corn,  and  the  fruit. 
In  winter  to  spend,  as  we  need  of  each  suit. 


XXV.  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY    395 

The  year  I  compare,  as  I  find  for  a  truth, 
The  Spring  unto  Childhood,  the  Summer  to  Youth, 
The  Harvest  to  Manhood,  the  Winter  to  Age, 
All  quickly  forgot  as  a  play  on  a  stage. 

Time  past  is  forgotten,  ere  men  be  aware ; 
Time  present  is  thought  on,  with  wonderful  care  ; 
Time  coming  is  feared,  and  therefore  we  save, 
Yet  oft  ere  it  come  we  be  gone  to  the  grave. 

The  lands  and  the  riches  that  here  we  possess 
Be  none  of  our  own,  if  a  God  we  profess ; 
But  lent  us  of  Him,  as  His  talent  of  gold. 
Which  being  demanded,  who  can  it  withhold  ? 

God  maketh  no  writing,  that  justly  doth  say. 
How  long  we  shall  have  it, — a  year  or  a  day  ; 
But  leave  it  we  must  (howsoever  we  leave), 
When  Atrop  shall  pluck  us  from  hence  by  the 
sleeve. 


To  Death  we  must  stoop,  be  we  high,  be  we  low, 
But  how  and  how  suddenly,  few  be  that  know ; 
What  carry  we  then  but  a  sheet  to  the  grave 
To  cover  this  carcass,  of  all  that  we  have  ? 

Thomas  Tusser 


FRIDAY 

OH  yet  we  trust  that  somehow  good, 
Will  be  the  final  goal  of  ill, 
To  pangs  of  nature,  sins  of  will, 
Defects  of  doubt,  and  taints  of  blood  ; 


396  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

That  nothing  walks  with  aimless  feet ; 

That  not  one  life  shall  be  destroy'd, 

Or  cast  as  rubbish  to  the  void, 
When  God  hath  made  the  pile  complete ; 

That  not  a  worm  is  cloven  in  vain ; 

That  not  a  moth  with  vain  desire 

Is  shriveird  in  a  fruitless  fire, 
Or  but  subserves  another's  gain. 

Behold,  we  know  not  anything ; 

I  can  but  trust  that  good  shall  fall 

At  last — far  off — at  last,  to  all. 
And  every  winter  change  to  spring. 

So  runs  my  dream  :  but  what  am  I  ? 

An  infant  crying  in  the  night : 

An  infant  crying  for  the  light : 
And  with  no  language  but  a  cry. 

Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson 


SATURDAY 

THE  wish,  that  of  the  living  whole 
No  life  may  fail  beyond  the  grave, 
Derives  it  not  from  what  we  have 
The  likest  God  within  the  soul  ? 

Are  God  and  Nature  then  at  strife, 
That  Nature  lends  such  evil  dreams  ? 
So  careful  of  the  type  she  seems. 

So  careless  of  the  single  life ; 

That  I,  considering  everywhere 
Her  secret  meaning  in  her  deeds. 


ST  ANDREW  397 

And  finding  that  of  fifty  seeds 
She  often  brings  but  one  to  bear, 

I  falter  where  I  firmly  trod, 
And  falling  with  my  weight  of  cares 
Upon  the  great  world's  altar-stairs 

That  slope  thro'  darkness  up  to  God, 

I  stretch  lame  hands  of  faith,  and  grope, 
And  gather  dust  and  chaff,  and  call 
To  what  I  feel  is  Lord  of  all, 

And  faintly  trust  the  larger  hope. 

Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson 


ST  ANDREW 

OH  that,  ere  death  shall  close  my  eyes  in  sleep, 
I  might  behold  that  Galilean  deep. 
Sun-gilded  waves,  and  hill-embosom'd  strand, 
Where  Andrew  dwelt  with  his  fraternal  band — 
Andrew,  who  saw  and  heard  the  living  Word, 
And  came,  and  then  brought  Peter  to  the  Lord — 
Andrew,  next  added  to  that  favour'd  three, 
Schooled  in  Christ's  lore  upon  their  native  sea. 

Blest   sight !    to  see   those   heights   which   round 

them  clos'd, 
When  holy  eyes  on  their  dark  shapes  reposed ; 
To  watch  those  gales  which  came  upon  the  deep. 
When  in  that  hold  their  Lord  was  laid  asleep ; 
To  see  those  rocks  where  dwelt  their  thoughts  of 

home. 
And  'neath  that  glowing  firmament  to  roam  ; 
Move  on  the  sea  they  moved,  and  there  behold 
The  moon  and  stars  which  they  beheld  of  old  ! 


398  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

But  ah  !  far  more,  when  death  hath  closed  mine 

eyes 
Might  I  but  see  beyond  those  eastern  skies 
By  Andrew  led,  where,  round  our  Saviour's  feet, 
The  holy  twelve  in  sweet  communion  meet 
In  their  last  haven  on  that  stable  shore. 
Beside  that  crystal  sea  for  evermore  ! 

Isaac  Williams 


ST  THOMAS 

BLESSED  were  they  who,  in  the  days  of  old, 
Saw  the  Lord's  face,  and  listened  to  His 
word ; 
More  blessed  they.  His  gentle  voice  has  told. 
Who  never  saw,  and  yet  believe  their  Lord. 

"  Except  I  look  upon  the  risen  dead, 

And  lay  my  finger  where  the  nails  ran  thro'. 

And  touch  His  wounded  side,"  Saint  Thomas  said, 
"  Your   words  are   wild,   I  will  not  hold  them 
true." 

On  those  eleven,  met  to  pray  and  watch, 

The  last  red  sunbeam  flung  a  twilight  gloom. 

No  foot  has  stirred,  no  hand  has  raised  the  latch,— 
There  stood  Another  in  the  lowly  room. 

"  Look  on  My  hands,  O  faithless  heart ! "  He  cried, 
"  Behold  the  prints  of  cruel  nails  are  here, 

Put  forth  thy  finger  now  and  touch  My  side. 
There  deeply  drank  the  Roman's  hated  spear." 


THE  CONVERSION  OF  ST  PAUL     399 

No  more  th'  Apostle's  doubtful  soul  is  dim, 
Bursts  from  his  quivering  lip  the  cry  of  faith, 

"  My  Lord,  my  God  " ;  henceforth  content  for  Him 
To  bear  the  life  of  scorn,  the  martyr's  death. 

And  dear  to  us  that  word,  in  later  day 

Who  hold,   in  faith,   the  things  we  might  not 
see; — 
"  Thou  seeing  hast  believed  ;  more  blest  are  they 
Who  have  not  seen,  yet  have  believed  on  Me." 
Cecil  Francis  Alexander 


THE  CONVERSION  OF  ST  PAUL 

THE  Will  Divine  that  woke  a  waiting  time. 
With  desert  cry  and  Calvary's  Cross  sublime, 
Had  equal  need  on  thee  its  power  to  prove. 
Thou  soul  of  passionate  zeal  and  tenderest  love  ! 

O  slave  devout  of  burdening  Hebrew  school, 
Proud  to  fulfil  each  time-exalted  rule. 
How  broke  the  illusion  of  thy  swelling  wrath 
On  that  meek  front  of  calm,  enduring  faith  ! 

Then  flashed  it  on  thy  spirit  mightily 
That  thou  hadst  spurned  a  love  that  died  for  thee  ! 
And  all  the  pride  went  down  in  whelming  flood 
Of  boundless  shame  and  boundless  gratitude. 

What  large  atonement  that  great  conscience  pays  ! 
For  every  wounding  slight,  a  psalm  of  praise  ; 
Unending  worship  shall  the  debt  consume ; 
For  hours  of  rage,  a  life  of  martyrdom. 


400  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Yet  in  such  morning  glow,  such  vital  day, 
What  chilling  sense  of  claim  or  debt  can  stay? 
O  wondrous  power  of  noble  love,  to  free 
From  binding  Law  to  glorious  Liberty  ! 

Dream  not  that  one  hath  drained  the  exhaustless  sea. 
Full  pours  the  tide  in  widening  stream  for  thee ; 
Lift  for  new  liberties  that  conquering  sign  ; 
Shatter  the  severing  walls  with  touch  divine ! 

Samuel  Johnson 


THE  PRESENTATION  OF  CHRIST  IN 
THE  TEMPLE 

JERUSALEM,  why  are  thy  voices  dumb? 
Where,  Sons  of  Jacob,  are  your  notes  of  glee  ? 
Behold  !  the  Lord  God,  Whom  ye  seek,  doth  come 
To-day  unto  His  Temple  suddenly. 

Where   stand    the   Levite    bands    their   King  to 
greet  ? 

What  waiting  guards  attend  upon  His  state  ? — 
One  lowly  Virgin  beareth  up  the  street 

Her  first-born  Son  unto  thy  temple  gate. 

Her  forty  days  of  loneliness  are  o'er  ; 

What  present  doth  the  virgin  Mother  bring  ? 
The  two  young  pigeons  from  her  scanty  store. 

And  Him,  the  full  sufficient  Offering. 

Haply,  to-day,  with  pomp  and  proffered  gold, 
Young  noble  mothers  sought  the  holy  dome, 


ST  MATTHIAS  40 1 

Paid  the  full  price  that  Moses  bade  of  old, 

And    bore    their  ransomed    treasures    proudly 
home; 

But  not  for  them  the  Prophet's  eye,  grown  dim 
With  watchful  years,  lit  up  in  ecstasy ; 

Nor  aged  Anna  looked  in  them  for  Him, 
Whom  she  had  served  so  long,  so  patiently. 

And  when  resistless  broke  the  glowing  word, 
"  Now  let  Thy  servant  die,  my  work  is  done ; 

Mine  eyes  have  seen  the  glory  of  the  Lord  ; " 
The  Prophet  looked  upon  the  Virgin's  Son. 

He  was  the  perfect  Sacrifice,  foreshown 
By  shadowy  type  of  old,  and  symbol  high ; 

The  First-born  of  unnumbered  Sons,  alone 
In  Him  accepted,  and  in  Him  brought  nigh. 

No  treasured  gold  shall  buy  Him  back  again. 
Self-offered  gift  to  shrive  a  whole  world's  sin ; 

Open  thy  gates ;  the  Victim  and  His  train 

Draw  near ;  the  Virgin  bears  her  First-born  in. 
Cecil  Frances  Alexander 


ST  MATTHIAS 

PRIESTS  of  the  Lord— let  Judas  warn  them 
well. 
Lest  in  some  heart  a  secret  germ  may  hide 
Of  that  which  hurl'd  him  to  the  lowest  hell. 
At  once  a  traitor  and  a  suicide  ! 

If  lucre-dreams,  not  love  for  souls,  inspire 
The  impious  mocker,  who  presumes  to  say 
2  c 


402   CHURCHMAN^S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

"  Come,  Holy  Ghost ;  and  with  celestial  fire 
Purge  the  vile  dross  of  sin  and  self  away," 

Alas  for  him  !  but  grace  and  truth  are  Thine, 
And  through  the  channels  of  Thy  Church  can 
flow; 

The  hands  are  human,  but  the  gifts  divine, 
Which  all  their  virtue  to  Thy  merit  owe  — 

Who  art  of  sacraments  the  vital  spring, 
Their  viewless  Source  of  purity  and  power 

When  souls  their  sacrifice  of  worship  bring 
And  throng  Thy  Temple  in  devotion's  hour. 

Nor  should  false  worldlings  in  their  pride  forget. 
If  lust  of  income  o'er  the  conscience  reign, 

Some  heart  of  Judas  may  be  throbbing  yet, 
And  act,  in  principle,  his  crime  again  ! 

And,  Lord  of  souls,  let  faithful  shepherds  feed 
The  flock  committed  unto  past'ral  care, 

Not  lured  by  gain,  but  finding  all  their  meed 
When  Glory's  fold  shall  see  true  converts  there. 
Robert  Montgomery 


THE  ANNUNCIATION  OF  THE  BLESSED 
VIRGIN  MARY 

T    O,   Gabriel,    leaving   the   bright  realms  on 
i-^     high, 

Searched  out  reposeful  Nazareth  and  saw 
The  espoused  Bride  of  Joseph  ;  and  his  eye 

Was  filled  with  wonder  and  a  reverent  awe. 


THE  ANNUNCIATION  403 

As  thus  he  spake: — "O  Mary,  hear  God's  law 
On  thy  behalf,  thou  Virgin  full  of  grace  ! 
The  Holy  Spirit  from  above  shall  draw 
His  Presence  o'er  thee,  and  thou  shalt  embrace 
A  Son,  the  Word  of  God,  come  to  redeem  thy 


race 


t" 


As  when  a  shower  flies  glooming  o'er  the  Spring, 
Blurring  the  cheerful  gladness  of  the  day. 

So  do  these  words  of  sudden  marvel  fling 
Across  that  gentle  heart  a  quick  dismay, 
And  to  herself  she  thus  began  to  say  : — 

"Ah,  how  can  I  break  ofl"  my  cherished  schemes 
Of  homely  innocence,  and  find  my  way 

Perchance   through   paths,  where  evil   surmise 
teems, 
To  that   bewildering   height   beyond   all    human 
dreams  ?  " 

But,  as  the  vernal  drops  make  haste  to  fly. 

Leaving  the  landscape  brighter  than  before, 
So  Mary's  troubled  thoughts  passed  swiftly  by, 
And  left  her  dowered  with  new  celestial  lore. 
"  Yea,  now,"  she  said,  "  my  spirit  can  adore 
God's   blest   decree ;   for,    though   as   'twere  a 
sword 
Pierced   through  my  being,  when  He  bade 
me  soar. 
Yet  will  my  Father  in  His  love  afford 
The  needful  strength!     Behold  the  handmaid  of 
the  Lord ! " 

Yea,  she  alone  of  mortals  in  the  earth 

Can  on  this  wondrous  eminence  be  placed. 

Tell  out  in  every  age  her  peerless  worth. 
By  majesty  and  utter  meekness  graced  ! 


404  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

But,  though  none  other  child  of  Adam  taste 
Her  cup  of  bliss,  be  sure,  my  soul,  that  thou 

Hast  some  high  destiny  before  thee  traced. 
Therefore,  like  Mary,  swift  obedience  vow ; 
Break  with  the  entangling  world  and  Heavenward 
lift  thy  brow ! 

G.  T.  S.  Farquhar 


ST  MARK 

MEEK  to  suffer,  strong  to  save, 
From  the  chambers  of  the  grave 
Christ  the  steep  ascent  hath  trod, 
Up  to  the  right  hand  of  God. 

With  all  power  invested,  thence 
He  His  Spirit  doth  dispense. 
To  His  faithful  people  still, 
Quickening  whomso'er  He  will. 

Some  apostles,  prophets  some. 
At  His  gracious  bidding  come ; 
Pastors,  teachers  still  He  sends 
To  His  children  and  His  friends ; 

For  the  help  of  those  who  faint. 
For  the  strengthening  of  the  saint ; 
That  the  Church  increased  may  be. 
For  the  body's  ministry  : 

Till,  in  unity  and  love, 
Faith  and  hope  in  Him  above. 
To  the  measure  and  the  span 
Come  we  of  a  perfect  man ; 


ST  PHILIP  AND  ST  JAMES         405 

Be  no  longer  to  and  fro 
Toss'd  by  all  the  winds  that  blow ; 
Keep  the  truth,  nor  let  it  slip ; 
Keep  the  Christian  fellowship. 

By  no  cunning  sleight  enticed 
From  our  perfect  trust  in  Christ ; 
Close,  compact  in  joint  and  limb 
May  we  all  grow  up  in  Him. 

John  Moultrie 


ST  PHILIP  AND  ST  JAMES 

THOU  art  the  Way  ! 
All  ways  are  thorny  mazes  without  Thee ; 
Where    hearts   are    pierced,   and    thoughts  all 
aimless  stray : 
In  Thee  the  heart  stands  firm,  the  life  moves  free ; 
Thou  art  our  Way. 

Thou  art  the  Truth  ! 
Questions  the  ages  break  against  in  vain 

Confront  the  spirit  in  its  untried  youth  ; 
It  starves,  while  sifting  poison  from  the  grain  : 

Thou  art  the  Truth ! 

Thou  art  the  Light ! 
Earth  beyond  earth  no  faintest  ray  can  give ; 

Heaven's  shadeless  noontide  blinds  our  mortal 
sight ; 
In  Thee  we  look  on  God,  and  love,  and  live  : 

Thou  art  our  Light ! 


4o6  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Thou  art  the  Rock  ! 
Doubts  none  can  solve  heave  wild  on  every  side, 

Wave   meeting  wave   of   thought  in   ceaseless 
shock ; 
On  Thee  the  soul  rests  calm  amidst  the  tide : 

Thou  art  our  Rock  ! 

Thou  art  the  Life  ! 
All  ways  without  Thee  paths  that  end  in  death ; 

All  life  without  Thee  with  death  harvest  rife ; 
All  truths  dry  bones,  disjoined,  and  void  of  breath : 

Thou  art  our  Life  ! 

For  Thou  art  Love  ! 
Our  Way  and  End  !  the  way  is  rest  with  Thee  ! 

O  Hving  Truth,  the  truth  is  life  in  Thee  ! 
O  Life  essential,  life  is  bliss  with  Thee ! 

For  Thou  art  Love  ! 

Elizabeth  Rundle  Charles 


ST  BARNABAS 

CROWNED  with  immortal  jubilee 
This  day,  thy  soul  set  free. 
From  earth  to  Heaven  thou  didst  pass, 
O  holy  Barnabas, 

He,  for  Whose  sake,  at  Whose  dear  call, 

Thou  gavest  up  thine  all : 
He  shall  thine  all,  thy  treasure  be 

Lasting  eternally. 

'Mid  fasting,  prayer,  and  holy  hands, 
Lo  !  'mid  the  saints  he  stands, 


ST  JOHN  THE  BAPTIST  407 

The  Spirit's  high  behest  to  bear, 

Christ's  Heav'n-sent  messenger. 

Thou  hast  with  Paul  in  labours  stood, 

Blest  bond  of  brotherhood  ! 
One,  in  the  mandate  sent  from  high ; 

And  one,  in  charity. 

To  what  barbaric  shores  away 

Did  ye  that  light  convey, 
When  from  God's  chosen  race  ye  turn'd, 

Who  faith's  glad  message  spurn'd  ? 

Lord,  when  to  us  an  offer'd  Guest 

Shall  come  that  Spirit  blest. 
Let  not  our  hearts  Heaven's  bounty  slight 

Deeming  our  darkness  light. 

Isaac  Williams 


ST  JOHN  THE  BAPTIST 

THIS  day  the  Church  commemorates 
The  birthday  of  St  John ; 
Except  our  Lord's  Nativity, 
She  keeps  this  only  one. 

As  if  to  lift  our  earth-bound  hearts, 

Above  the  things  which  are  ; 
And  teach,  how  death-days,  when  in  Christ, 

Are  brighter  days  by  far. 

And  by  the  side  of  Him,  Whose  Birth,. 
Like  morning  star,  arose ; 


4o8  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

To  light  the  way,  of  breaking  day, 
That  on  the  mountains  glows ; 


She,  in  the  lessons  of  her  truth, 
To  teach  us  "  what  is  good," 

Contrasts  another  Birthday,  kept 
In  shame,  and  lust,  and  blood. 

O  Saviour,  when  this  day  returns, 
Bright  with  its  summer  bloom, — 

And,  on  St  John's  Nativity, 
Points  to  his  early  tomb : 

Be  this  its  holy  use,  to  make 

The  Birthdays  of  each  year, 
Tho'  dear,  for  all  their  human  joy, 

As  helps  to  Heav'n,  most  dear. 

The  Baptist's  pure  and  holy  life. 

Severe  from  early  youth ; 
His  bold  rebuke  of  haughty  vice, 

His  patience  for  "  the  truth  "  : 

His  preparation  of  Thy  way, 

His  living  in  Thy  Love  : 
His  brief,  but  hard  and  toilsome  day, 

His  early  rest  above  : 

Be  these  our  Birthday  monitors, 
Our  souls,  for  Heaven  to  train ; 

Teaching  us  how  "  to  live  is  Christ," 
And  how  "  to  die  is  gain." 

John  S.  B.  Monsell 


ST  PETER  409 


ST  PETER 

WHAT  tears  are  these  that  flow  so  fast ? 
The  cock  hath  crowed  for  coming  dawn, 
Twice  hath  he  crowed  ;  the  night  is  past ; 
With  new  day  let  new  hope  be  born. 

It  was  the  Lord  at  cock-crow  came  ; 

Like  Moses'  rod,  with  double  stroke, 
A  voice  smote  Simon  in  his  shame ; 

Christ    looked, — the    strong  man's    heart   was 
broke. 

He  weeps,  and  bitter  are  his  tears. 

As  bitter  as  his  words  were  base, 
As  urgent  as  the  sudden  fears 

Which  even  love  refused  to  face. 

O,  love  so  false  and  yet  so  true, 

O,  love  so  eager  yet  so  weak. 
In  these  sad  waters  born  anew 

Thy  tongue  shall  yet  in  triumph  speak. 

Thou  livest,  and  the  boaster  dies, 

Dies  with  the  night  that  wrought  his  shame, 
Thou  livest,  and  these  tears  baptize — 

Simon,  now  Peter  is  thy  name. 

A  rock,  upon  Himself  the  Rock 

Christ  places  thee  this  awful  day  ; 
Him  waves  assault  with  direful  shock. 

And  cover  thee  with  maddening  spray. 

But  safe  art  thou,  for  strong  is  He : 
Eternal  Love  all  love  will  keep : 


4IO  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

The  sweet  shall  as  the  bitter  be ; 

Thou  shalt  rejoice  as  thou  dost  weep. 

Thomas  Toke  Lynch 


ST  JAMES 

SAINT  James  was  in  the  path  of  toil 
When,  "  Follow  me,"  Emmanuel  said  ; 
And  lo,  at  once,  the  rude  turmoil 

He  left,  to  haste  where  Jesus  led. 
What,  though  an  aged  sire  remained 

Bereft  of  son  and  sympathy, 
The  homage  of  his  heart  was  gained — 
For  He  Who  spoke  was  Deity  ! 

So  is  it  now  :  our  daily  path 

Is  flower'd  with  blessings  rich  and  rare. 
When  duty  in  devotion  hath 

Obey'd  the  voice  of  Conscience  there  : — 
Faith  should  not  yearn  for  great  event 

Or  crisis  through  some  wondrous  change, 
But  with  the  calm  of  home  content 

In  peace  pursue  Hfe's  wonted  range. 

Or  if,  hke  James,  our  hearts  aspire 

In  some  rapt  dream  too  high  for  man, 
And  grow  inflam'd  with  zealot-fire, 

O  teach  us.  Lord,  the  milder  plan  ! — 
The  "  Son  of  Thunder  "  soften  Thou, 

And  with  the  balm  of  love  allay ; 
Till  the  stern  bigot  from  the  brow 

In  soft  forbearance  dies  away. 

Robert  Montgomery 


ST  BARTHOLOMEW  411 


ST  BARTHOLOMEW 

HOW  blessed,  from  the  bonds  of  sin 
And  earthly  fetters  free, 
In  singleness  of  heart  and  aim, 

Thy  servant,  Lord,  to  be  ! 
The  hardest  toil  to  undertake 
With  joy  at  Thy  command. 
The  meanest  office  to  receive 
With  meekness  at  Thy  hand  : 

With  willing  heart  and  longing  eyes, 

To  watch  before  Thy  gate, 
Ready  to  run  the  weary  race. 

To  bear  the  heavy  weight ; 
No  voice  of  thunder  to  expect, 

But  follow  calm  and  still ; 
For  love  can  easily  divine 

The  One  Beloved's  will. 

Thus  may  I  serve  Thee,  gracious  Lord, 

Thus  ever  Thine  alone  ; 
My  soul  and  body  given  to  Thee, 

The  purchase  Thou  hast  won. 
Through  evil  and  through  good  report 

Still  keeping  by  Thy  side. 
By  hfe  or  death,  in  this  poor  flesh 

Let  Christ  be  magnified. 

How  happily  the  working  days 

In  Thy  dear  service  fly. 
How  rapidly  the  closing  hour, 

The  time  of  rest,  draws  nigh  ! 


412  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

When  all  the  faithful  gather  home, 

A  joyful  company 
And  ever  where  the  Master  is, 

Shall  His  bless'd  servants  be. 

Jane  Borthwick 


ST  MATTHEW 

SO  Matthew  left  his  golden  gains, 
At  the  great  Master's  call ; 
His  soul  the  love  of  Christ  constrains 
Freely  to  give  up  all. 

The  tide  of  life  was  at  its  flow, 

Rose  higher  day  by  day  ; 
But  he  a  higher  life  would  know 

Than  that  which  round  him  lay. 

Nor  Fortune,  bright  with  fav'ring  smile, 
Can  tempt  him  with  her  store ; 

Too  long  she  did  his  heart  beguile, 
He  will  be  hers  no  more. 

To  one  sweet  Voice  his  soul  doth  list, 

And,  at  its  "  Follow  Me," 
Apostle,  and  Evangelist 

Henceforth  for  Christ  is  he. 

O  Saviour !  when  prosperity 
Makes  this  world  hard  to  leave, 

And  all  its  pomps  and  vanity 
Their  meshes  round  us  weave  : 


ST  MICHAEL  AND  ALL  ANGELS    413 

When  Mammon  with  its  subtle  chain, 

Fair,  because  forged  in  gold, 
The  soul,  which  up  to  Heaven  would  strain 

In  captive  thrall  doth  hold  : 

When  life  with  all  its  balmiest  hours 

In  sunshine  round  us  lies  ; 
And  bee-like,  'mid  a  thousand  flowers 

Fond  fickle  fancy  flies  : 

Oh  grant  us  grace  that  to  Thy  call 

We  may  obedient  be ; 
And,  cheerfully  forsaking  all. 

May  follow  only  Thee. 

John  S.  B.  Monsell 


ST  MICHAEL  AND  ALL  ANGELS 

THERE  is  no  night  in  Heaven— 
In  that  blest  world  above 
Work  never  can  bring  weariness, 
For  work  itself  is  love. 


There  is  no  night  in  Heaven ! 

Yet  nightly  round  each  bed 
Of  every  Christian  slumberer 

Faith  hears  an  Angel  tread. 

There  is  no  grief  vol  Heaven  ! 

There  all  is  "  perfect  day  "  ; 
There  tears  are  'mid  those  "  former  things  " 

Which  all  "  have  passed  away." 


414  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

There  is  no  grief  in  Heaven! 

Yet  Angels  from  on  high 
Glide  down  on  golden  pinions, — 

The  Christian's  tears  to  dry. 

There  is  no  wanf  in  Heaven  ! 

The  Lamb  of  God  supplies 
Life's  Tree  of  twelve-fold  fruitage — 

Life's  Spring  which  never  dries. 

There  is  no  wanf  in  Heaven  ! 

Yet  in  a  desert  land 
The  fainting  Prophet  was  sustained 

E'en  by  an  Angel's  hand. 

There  is  no  sin  in  Heaven  ! 

Amid  that  blessed  throng  ; 
All-holy  is  their  spotless  robe, 

All-holy  is  their  song. 

There  is  no  sin  in  Heaven  ! 

Here  who  from  sin  is  free  ? 
Yet  Angels  aid  us  in  our  strife 

For  Christ's  own  liberty. 

There  is  no  dea^k  in  Heaven  ! 

For  they  who  gain  that  shore 
Have  won  their  immortality, 

And  "  they  can  die  no  more." 

There  is  no  death  in  Heaven  ! 

But  when  the  Christian  dies 
(Made  thus  co-heirs  with  Angels), 

They  waft  him  to  the  skies. 

F.  M.  Knollis 


SAINT  SIMON  AND  SAINT  JUDE     415 


ST  LUKE 

LIFT  high  the  song  of  praise 
For  him  whose  holy  pen 
Gave  down  the  hymns  of  other  days 
To  glad  the  sons  of  men. 

Glory  to  God  on  high, 
And  peace  upon  the  earth, 
Goodwill  to  men  be  now  proclaimed, 
As  at  the  Saviour's  birth. 

The  Lord  to  magnify, 
Be  lifted  every  voice, 
And  in  our  God  and  Saviour 
Let  every  soul  rejoice. 

With  benedictions  high 
Let  Israel's  God  be  praised  : 
Who  hath  salvation's  mighty  horn 
Up  for  His  people  raised. 

And  when  around  our  path 
The  call  of  Death  is  heard, 
Lord,  let  Thou  us  depart  in  peace. 
According  to  Thy  word. 

Henry  Alford 


SAINT  SIMON  AND  SAINT  JUDE 

WHAT  mighty  name  did  the  whole  earth  adore? 
Tiberius,  throned  on  Capri's  pleasant  isle  ! 
His  very  whisper  spread  from  shore  to  shore ; 
His  frown  was  terror  and  his  faintest  smile 


4i6  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

Joy  to  a  world  !     Lo,  pompous  priests  implore 
His  deity — half  blinded,  half  in  guile  ! 


What  humble  names  did  the  whole  earth  despise  ? 

The  fishers  on  the  Lake  of  Galilee  ! 
Few  were  the  noble  or  the  rich  or  wise — 

Few  were  the  poor,  whose  minds  were  purged 
and  free 
To  know  the  Almighty's  liegemen  and  to  prize 

The  worth  of  those  rough  toilers  on  the  sea  ! 

Who  names  the  Caesar  now  ?  Why,  here  and  there, 
A  student  pondering  o'er  a  learned  tome  ! 

He  marks  the  date  when  John  began  to  wear 
The  rough  prophetic  garb,  but  even  Rome 

Has  quite  forgot  the  long  foreboding  care 

Wherewith  she  watched  the  tyrant's  island  home. 

Who  names   the   Apostles   now?      Who    names 
them  not? 

Their  sound  is  gone  into  each  distant  land. 
And  O  how  glorious  is  their  present  lot ! 

For  every  year  revolving  sees  them  stand 
Amid  the  Church's  praises  unforgot, 

Descried  by  love  upon  the  heavenly  strand  ! 

Then  who  will  murmur,  if  perchance  his  name 
Receive  no  portion  of  the  world's  renown  ? 

With  Jude  and  Simon  seek  we  nobler  fame  : 
At  the  Lord's  feet  lay  gross  ambition  down : 

On  selfless  love  and  duty  build  our  claim 
And  win  like  them  an  everlasting  crown ! 

G.  T.  S.  Farquhar 


ALL  SAINTS'  DAY  417 


ALL  SAINTS'  DAY 

THERE'S  many  a  happy  household  band 
Brought  up  around  one  Father's  knee, 
And  fed  by  the  same  Mother's  hand 
Through  all  their  happy  infancy  ; 
But  years  roll  on,  the  world  is  wide. 
And  seas  perchance  and  lands  divide 
The  brothers  that  played  side  by  side, 
The  sisters  loved  so  tenderly. 

Yet  faithful  still,  though  far  apart, 

They  wear  their  childhood's  early  chain  ; 
Still  truly  thrills  each  kindred  heart 

To  other's  joy,  for  other's  pain  ; 
And  if  one  lonely  pilgrim  dies 
The  tears  fall  down  from  many  eyes, 
And  still  their  home's  old  sympathies 
Will  sometimes  wake  again. 

There  is  a  holy  household,  bound 

In  closer  bond  than  ties  of  home 
Or  kindred  claim  ;  the  wide  earth  round. 

Those  children  of  One  Father  roam. 
Space  cannot  mar  their  unison, 
For  still  their  hopes  and  joys  are  one, 
In  town,  and  plain,  and  desert  lone, 
And  far  isles  girt  with  foam. 

And  time,  that  wears  each  other  bond, 
Breaks  not  that  holy  brotherhood  ; 

The  patriarchal  days  beyond, 

Beyond  the  old  destroying  flood. 


4i8  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 

It  clasps  dim  ages  far  away, 
It  hold  the  true  of  every  day 
Who  love  the  Lord  and  choose  His  way, 
The  faithful,  wise,  and  good. 

Nor  even  death  dissolves  the  charm 
With  her  cold  touch  so  stern  and  chill ; 

The  love  that  braved  all  other  harm 

Shrinks  trembling  from  that  last  worst  ill, 

And  men  seal  up  the  fading  eye, 

They  seek  no  more  for  sympathy 

From  lips  that  cannot  frame  reply ; 
But  saints  look  further  still. 

For  them  the  dead  can  never  die, 
With  them  the  living  strive  and  pray ; 

Oh  !  happy  commune,  pure  and  high, 
And  happy  all  who  feel  its  sway, 

Blest  in  their  One  Redeeming  Lord, 

And  blest  by  His  own  precious  Word ; — 

Well  may  we  linger  to  record 
Our  brothers  dear  to-day, 

Tht  gentle  warriors  bold  and  kind. 
With  steadfast  brow  and  solemn  tone, 

The  holy  men  of  earnest  mind, 

Whose  prayers  are  mingling  with  our  own, 

And  they,  for  ever  blest  and  bright, 

With  robes  in  Christ's  own  Blood  washed  white. 

With  palms  in  hand,  and  crowns  of  light. 
Who  stand  around  His  Throne. 

Cecil  Frances  Alexander 


INDEX 


Ah  !  dearest  Lord,  I  cannot  pray 

Ah,  what  time  wilt  Thou  come?  when  shall  that  cry 

Alas  !  my  torments ;  my  distracted  fears   . 

All  flesh  is  grass,  and  all  its  glory  fades     . 

All  hail,  thou  night,  thou  day  more  bright 

All  round  the  rolling  world,  both  night  and  day 

All  things  a  prophecy  contain    . 

All  things  that  are  on  earth  shall  wholly  pass  away 

And  feel  I,  Death,  no  joy  from  thought  of  thee 

And  is  it  so  that  Nature  stints  her  praise   . 

And  though  some  impious  wits  do  questions  move 

An  earnest,  ardent  will  for  good 

Arise,  my  soul,  the  morning  sun 

As  hart  pants  high  for  gushing  rills   . 

As  men,  for  fear  the  stars  should  sleep  and  nod 

As  one  who,  toiling  up  some  lofty  peak 

.\s  travellers,  when  the  twilight's  come 

A  thousand  oracles  divine  . 

Autumn  has  come  at  last ;  and  Nature  now 

Awake,  glad  soul !  awake  !  awake     , 

Awake,  thou  wintry  earth  . 

Away  with  sorrow's  sigh     . 

Because  the  world  might  not  pretend 

Behold  the  sun  from  eastern  gloom  arise 

Be  thou  content :  be  still  before 

Blessed  Light  of  saints  on  high 

Blessed  were  they  who,  in  the  days  of  old 

Blest  pair  of  Sirens,  pledges  of  Heaven's  jo} 

Boast  of  thine  honours,  wealth,  and  power 

Breezes  of  spring,  all  earth  to  life  awaking 

Carry  me.  Babe,  to  Bethlehem  now  . 

Charming  flowers  !  your  day  is  come 

Christ  had  two  several  wrongs  to  bear 

Christian,  did  no  one,  thinkest  thou,  behold  thee 

Christ  is  coming  !  let  creation    . 

Christ,  Who  our  weak  flesh  didst  wear 

Clearly  I  see 

Come,  Holy  Spirit,  from  above. 

2  D* 


PACK 

300 

23 

176 

30 

188 

223 

64 

314 

371 

333 
337 

56 
358 
131 
127 
388 
309 
152 
IS4 

38 

22 
357 

73 
238 

398 
356 
"3 

193 

37 

244 

339 

294 

26 

142 

340 
204 


419 


420  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 


Come,  Holy  Spirit,  heav'nly  Dove 

Come,  let  us  sound  her  praise  abroad 

Come  to  our  joyous  marriage  feast     . 

Come,  ye  lofty  !  come,  ye  lowly 

Contemplate  all  this  work  of  Time     . 

Count  not  the  days  that  have  idly  flown 

Creator  Spirit,  by  Whose  aid     . 

Crowned  with  immortal  jubilee  . 

Dark  was  my  lot,  and  long  it  spurned 

Dayspring  of  Eternity 

Do  not  cheat  thy  Heart  and  tell  her  . 

Erst  in  Eden's  happy  garden 

Eternal  Father  !  God  of  peace  . 

Eternal  Truth,  almighty,  infinite 

Evermore  their  lauds  the  Angel  hosts  are  singing 

Faith  of  our  fathers  !  living  still 

Fall  not  out  upon  the  way 

Father  of  nations  !  what  high  thoughts  endued 

Fear  not,  for  He  hath  sworn 

Fire  is  not  quench'd  with  fire,  and  wrath 

Fling  out  the  banner  !  let  it  float 

Fond  heart,  when  learnest  thou  to  say 

For  message  of  the  Written  Word 

Fret  not,  poor  soul :  while  doubt  and  fear 

From  out  all  Nature  is  one  common  voice 

From  princely  walls,  in  Eastern  pomp  arrayed 

"  Get  thee  hence,  Satan  !  "  at  His  withering  look 

Gird  thy  loins  up,  Christian  soldier     , 

Give  us  Thy  blessed  peace,  God  of  all  might 

God  bless  the  calm  and  holy  cheer     . 

God  called  the  nearest  Angels  who  dwell  with  Him  above 

God  doth  not  leave  His  own 

"  God  is  Love,"  the  Heavens  tell  it   . 

"  God  is  my  strength  !  " — Be  this  my  shield 

God  might  have  made  the  earth  bring  forth 

God  never  meant  that  man  should  scale  the  heavens 

Good  and  great  God  !     Can  I  not  think  of  Thee 

"  Go  thou  thy  way  !  "     It  is  thy  Lord  Who  speaks 

Gracious  Spirit,  dwell  with  me  .... 

Happy  is  he,  who  at  each  gift  of  grace 

Hark  !  through  the  lonely  waste 

Have  mercy  on  me.  Lord 

Heare  me,  O  God  ! 

Heaven  from  all  creatures  hides  the  book  of  Fate 
He  grew  in  Wisdom  !  who  can  weigh 
He  is  gone — we  heard  Him  say 

He  is  risen,  He  is  risen 

He  leads  us  on 


INDEX 


421 


my  rhymes 


"  He  loved  His  own  unto  the  end  "    . 

Here  must  the  Christian  onward  press 

His  eye  toward  the  promised  land     . 

"  Holy  of  Holies,"  awful  name  . 

Holy  Spirit,  come,  we  pray 

Holy  Spirit,  Truth  Divine  .... 

Hours,  and  days,  and  months,  and  years  . 

How  beautiful  is  Truth  !  she  wins  her  way 

How  blessed,  from  the  bonds  of  sin  . 

How  happy  is  he  born  and  taught 

How  long  and  deep  the  shadows  of  our  Lent 

How  long,  great  God,  how  long  must  I     . 

How  long,  O  Lord,  in  weariness  and  sorrow 

How  many  a  Grecian  youth  of  old     . 

How  often  on  a  morning  bright 

How  shall  I  follow  Him  I  serve 

How  should  I  praise  Thee,  Lord  !  how  should 

How  sweet  the  ways  of  wisdom  early  gain'd 

Hushed  was  the  evening  hymn  . 

I  ask  a  perfect  creed 

I  bore  with  thee  long  weary  days  and  nights 

If  as  a  flower  doth  spread  and  die 

If  hasty  hand  or  bitter  tongue    . 

If  Solomon  for  wisdom  prayed  . 

If  thou  art  one  whose  cry  is  Liberty  . 

If  thou  hast  lost  a  friend    .... 

If  we  scan 

I  heard  the  voice  of  harpers,  harping  sweetly 

I  hold  a  joy,  with  which  I  feel   . 

I  lately  talked  with  one  who  strove    . 

I  like  that  ancient  Saxon  phrase  which  calls 

Immortal  Love,  for  ever  full 

In  every  place,  in  every  hour 

In  silence  mighty  things  are  wrought 

In  the  Apocalypse  sublime 

In  the  wound  of  Thy  Right  Hand 

In  thorny  thickets  blow  the  sweetest  roses 

Into  some  wave,  which  heedless  night-winds  rock 

Irresolute,  I  stand  perplext 

I  saw  two  women  weeping  by  the  tomb     . 

I  say  to  thee,  do  thou  repeat 

I  should  not  care  how  hard  my  fortunes  were 

I  sought  for  Wisdom  in  the  morning  time 

Is  this  a  fast,  to  keep  .... 

Is  thy  cruse  of  comfort  wasting?  haste  its  scanty  drops  to 

share 

I  stood  and  watched  my  ships  go  out 
It  came  upon  the  midnight  clear 


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422  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 


It  happen'd  on  a  solemn  eventide 

I  think  if  thou  could'st  know     . 

It  is  not  Heaven  alone 

It  is  not  heavy,  agonizing  woe  . 

I  walk  as  one  who  knows  that  he  is  treading 

I  walked  the  fields  at  morning's  prime 

I  would  not  ask  Thee  that  my  days  . 

Jairus  knew  it  now     .... 

Jerusalem,  why  are  thy  voices  dumb. 

Jesus,  gentle  Sufferer,  say  . 

Jesus  !  my  loving  Lord,  I  know 

Jesus,  still  lead  on      ...         . 

Jesus,  these  eyes  have  never  seen 

Jesu,  the  heart's  own  sweetness  and  true  light 

Jesus,  we  rest  in  Thee 

Judge  me,  and  plead  my  cause,  O  God 

Judge  not ;  the  workings  of  his  brain 

King  of  kings,  and  wilt  Thou  deign  . 

Know  well,  my  soul,  God's  hand  controls 

Lead  us  aside,  we  would  not  ever  stay 

Let  me  count  my  treasures 

Let  thy  gold  be  cast  in  the  furnace 

Life,  believe,  is  not  a  dream 

Life  !  I  know  not  what  thou  art 

Lift  high  the  song  of  praise 

Light  of  the  better  morning 

Like  Israel's  King,  oft  have  I  too  received 

Lo,  Gabriel,  leaving  the  bright  realms  on  high 

Long  have  I  view'd,  long  have  I  thought  . 

"  Look,  Master  !     See  yon  chariot  all  on  fire 

Look  up  ;  the  rainy  heavens  withdraw 

Lord,  canst  Thou  condescend  indeed  to  dwell 

Lord  !  come  away 

Lord  !  how  oft  shall  I  forgive    . 

Lord,  Thou  art  mine,  and  I  am  Thine 

Lord,  through  infinity,  which  lay  outspread 

Lord,  what  am  I?    A  worm,  dust,  vapour,  nothing 

Lord,  with  what  courage  and  delight 

"  Love  God,  love  truth,  love  virtue,  and  be  happy" 

Love  hath  descended  from  His  Throne  on  high 

Love  hath  taught  me  to  obey     .... 

Man  hath  a  voice  severe 

Man  is  a  busy  thing,  and  he      ...         . 

Meek  to  suffer,  strong  to  save    .... 

Me  hath  He  called  to  love  Him,  me  hath  deign'd 

Mercy  and  Truth  my  song  would  be . 

Mercy,  my  Judge,  mercy,  I  cry 

Most  High  and  Holy  Trinity     .... 


INDEX 


423 


Mother  !  with  us  the  Lord  doth  bide 

My  God,  I  thank  Thee,  Who  hast  made 

My  God,  to  keep  my  heart 

My  heart  was  glad  to  hear  their  call . 

My  Maker  !  of  Thy  power  the  trace  < 

My  soul  is  like  a  bird,  my  flesh  the  cage 

My  soul  once  had  its  plenteous  years 

Nay,  but  these  are  breezes  bright 

'Neath  the  full  beamings  of  an  orient  sky 

"  Night  flies  before  the  orient  morning  " 

Night  turns  to  day  when  sullen  darkness  lowers 

Not  afar  from  surf  and  wave 

Not  as  a  fallen  stone  .... 

Not  ashes  on  the  head       .... 

Not  as  He  was,  a  houseless  stranger 

Not  here,  not  here  ;  not  where  the  sparkling  waters 

Nothing  resting  in  its  own  completeness   . 

Nought  see  we  here  as  yet  in  full  perfection 

Now  are  the  days  of  humblest  prayer 

Now  take  my  heart  and  all  that  is  in  me    . 

Now  theirs  was  converse  such  as  it  behoves 

Now  weary  men  are  tending  to  their  home 

O  blessed  Jesus  !  when  I  see  Thee  bending 

O  blessing,  wearing  semblance  of  a  curse  . 

O  bright  Ideals,  how  ye  shine    . 

Of  God,  to  thy  doings,  a  time  there  is  sent 

Oft  when  of  God  we  ask    .... 

Of  what  an  easy  quick  access     . 

O  God,  Whose  thunder  shakes  the  sky 

O  hallowed  memories  of  the  past 

Oh  Book  !  infinite  sweetness  !  let  my  heart 

Oh,  bright  and  happy  Olivet 

Oh,  deem  not  they  are  blest  alone     . 

O  Heaven  !  sweet  Heaven  !  the  home  of  the  blest 

Oh  for  the  peace  which  floweth  as  a  river 

Oh,  give  thanks  to  Him  that  made    . 

Oh  !  help  me,  Lord,  to  seek  Thy  face 

Oh  sweetest  words  that  Jesus  could  have  spoke 

Oh  that,  ere  death  shall  close  my  eyes  in  sleep 

Oh  !  Thou,  that  driest  the  mourner's  tear 

Oh,  weak  are  my  best  thoughts,  and  poor 

Oh,  were  I  ever  what  I  am  sometimes 

Oh  yet  we  trust  that  somehow  good  . 

O  Lord,  our  Lord,  in  all  the  earth     . 

O  Nature  !  all  thy  seasons  please  the  eye 

One  baptism,  and  one  faith 

One  by  one  the  sands  are  flowing 

One  in  one  hundred  lost !  and  ninety-nine 


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424  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 


On  the  Cross  we  saw  Him  dying 

O  only  source  of  all  our  light  and  life 

Open  thyself  and  then  look  in    . 

O  Piety  !  O  heavenly  Piety 

O  Sacred  Providence,  Who  from  end  to  end 

O  show  me  not  my  Saviour  dying 

O  Thou,  the  contrite  sinner's  Friend 

O  Thou  !  the  Unseen,  the  All-seeing  !  Thou  Whose 

' '  Our  Father  " — happy  he  that  knows 

O  worshipper,  who  at  the  break  of  morn   . 

Prayer  is  omnipotence  descending,  when  . 

Priests  of  the  Lord — let  Judas  warn  them  well 

Rahel  weeping  for  her  children  . 

Rise  !  for  the  day  is  passing 

Saint  James  was  in  the  path  of  toil    . 

Saviour,  sprinkle  many  nations  . 

Say,  from  what  unknown  source,  mysterious  Nile 

See  how  yon  little  lark  is  borne 

See  the  rivers  flowing         .... 

See  what  unbounded  zeal  and  love     . 

Sent  from  the  ark,  the  dove,  with  timid  flight    , 

September's  woods  are  clothed  in  darker  green 

Shall  I,  for  fear  of  feeble  man    .        .         .         , 

Show  me  the  tears,  the  tears  of  tender  love 

Silence  !  though  the  flames  arise  and  quiver 

Since  o'er  Thy  footstool  here  below   . 

Since  trifles  make  the  sum  of  human  things 

Since  without  Thee  we  do  no  good    . 

Skirting  the  azure  of  the  summer  sky 

Sleep,  Holy  Babe 

Soldier,  go — but  not  to  claim 

So  Matthew  left  his  golden  gains 

Sore  was  the  famine  throughout  all  the  bounds 

Sorrow  weeps 

Soul,  when  your  flesh  dissolves  to  dust 
Source  of  my  life  !  to  Thee  my  grateful  soul 
Sower  Divine      ...... 

Spirit  Divine  !  attend  our  prayers 

Spirit,  exiled  long  from  earth     . 

Spirit  of  Christ !  Thy  grace  be  given 

Spirit  of  God  !  descend  upon  my  heart 

Spirit,  soul  and  body's  union      . 

Spring  is  but  another  birth 

"  Stay,  Master,  stay  upon  this  heavenly  hill 

Still  evermore  for  some  great  strength  we  pray 

Still  young  and  fine  !  but  what  is  still  in  view 

Strive  ;  yet  I  do  not  promise 

Strong  Son  of  God,  immortal  Love    . 


ways 


INDEX 


425 


Sweet  Hope  is  soveraigne  comfort  of  ovir  life     . 

Swift  o'er  the  desert  plains  the  wild  wind  sweeps 

Swords  of  fire  around  us  play    . 

Teach  me,  my  God  and  King    . 

That  early  love  of  creatures,  yet  unmade  . 

That  which  we  dare  invoke  to  bless   . 

The  blue  Egean's  countless  waves  in  Sabbath   sunlight 

smiled 

The  child  leans  on  its  parent's  breast 

The  days  of  old  were  days  of  might  . 

The  flower  that  in  the  lowly  vale 

The  glorious  Sun  no  man  can  see 

The  God  of  Nature  and  of  Grace 

Their  bark  is  smoothly  gliding  o'er  the  sea 

The  lopped  tree  in  time  may  grow  again   . 

The  Lord  is  King  !  lift  up  thy  voice  . 

The  Lord  shall  come  in  dead  of  night 

The  more  we  live,  more  brief  appear 

Then  give  Thy  saints         .... 

The  Pharisee  informed  the  Lord 

The  pilot's  skill  how  can  we  know     . 

The  Poet  scanned  with  mighty  awe   . 

There  are  no  little  things  on  earth 

There  are  some  hearts  like  wells,  green-mossed  and  deep 

Therefore  to  Thee  I  musing  turn 

There  is  a  dwelling-place  above 

There  is  a  River,  deep  and  broad 

There  is  a  Sabbath  won  for  us  . 

There  is  a  time  to  fast        .... 

There  is  no  night  in  Heaven 

There's  many  a  happy  household  band 

The  stately  heavens,  which  glory  doth  array 

The  sufferer  had  been  heard  to  say    . 

The  sunset  falls  on  Isaac's  tent . 

The  time  is  short        ..... 

The  Tree  of  Life  in  Eden  stood 

The  turf  shall  be  my  fragrant  shrine  . 

The  voice  of  God  was  mighty,  when  it  brake 

The  waves,  the  winds  of  Circumstance 

The  waving  fields  of  yellow  corn 

The  Will  Divine  that  woke  a  waiting  time 

The  wise  men  to  Thy  cradle-throne  . 

The  wish,  that  of  the  living  whole 

The  world  is  sick,  and  yet  not  unto  death 

The  world's  a  floor,  whose  swelling  heaps  retain 

They  are  all  gone  into  the  world  of  light   . 

They  came  on    . 

This  Book,  this  holy  Book — on  every  line . 


31S 

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426  CHURCHMAN'S  TREASURY  OF  SONG 


This  day  the  Church  commemorates 
This  did  not  once  so  trouble  me 
This  is  true  glory  and  renown,  when  God  . 
Tho'  nothing  once,  and  born  but  yesterday 

Thou  art  the  Way 

Thou  bidd'st  us  "  visit  in  distress 

Thoiigh  clouds  be  dark  and  tempests  brood  around 

Though  I  am  slow  to  trust  Thee,  Lord 

Thou,  Lord  of  all,  on  earth  hast  dwelt 

Thousands  completely  fed  .... 

Three  worlds  there  are  : — the  first  of  Sense 

Through  many  a  far  and  foreign  land 

Throw  wide  the  gate,  my  heart 

Thy  neighbour  ?  it  is  he  whom  thou  . 

Thy  ways,  O  Lord,  are  unlike  ours    . 

Time  is  a  prince  whose  resistless  sway 

"Tired  !  "     Well,  what  of  that .... 

'Tis  first  the  true  and  then  the  beautiful     . 

'Tis  not  the  temple's  shrine        .... 

'Tis  not  the  whirlwind,  o'er  our  fair  fields  sweeping 

To  be  thought  ill  of,  worse  than  we  deserve 

To  Him  Who  for  our  sins  was  slain  . 

To  pray  to  God  continually       .... 

To  Thy  temple,  Lord,  or  table. 

To  weary  hearts,  to  mourning  homes 

True  honour  bides  at  home,  and  takes  delight  . 

Truth  through  the  sacred  volume  hidden  lies    . 

Unanswered  yet,  the  prayer  your  lips  have  pleaded 

Up  to  the  hills  I  hft  mine  eyes  .... 

View  not  forms  with  heedless  scorn   . 

Watcher,  who  watch'st  by  the  bed  of  pain 

Watchman,  what  of  the  night    .... 

We  all  are  in  one  school 

We  cannot  stay,  said  the  winter  stars 

We  do  not  dread  the  darkest  night    . 

Weighing  the  steadfastness  and  state 

Welcome,  dear  feast  of  Lent :  who  loves  not  thee 

We  seek  a  land  of  more  delight 

We  see  the  leaves  fall  withered  from  the  trees  . 

We  walk  amid  a  world  of  beauteous  things 

What  and  if  the  day  is  breaking 

"WTiat  a  world  with  all  its  sorrows 

What  earth  appeared  to  Angel  eyes  . 

What  had  I  been  if  Thou  wert  not    . 

What  is  Life,  Father 

What  joyful  harvester  did  ere  obtain 

What  men  call  Nature  is  a  Thought  Divine 

What  mighty  name  did  the  whole  earth  adore 


INDEX 


427 


What  tears  are  these  that  flow  so  fast 

What  though  we  bear  a  heavy  load   . 

What,  what  is  tried  in  the  fires  of  God 

When  across  the  inward  thought 

When  darkness  long  has  veil'd  my  mind 

When  evening  clouds  hang  clustering  round  the  sun 

When  first  thine  eyes  unveil,  give  thy  soul  leave 

When  God  at  first  made  man    . 

When  is  Communion  nearest     . 

When  Israel,  of  the  Lord  beloved 

When  Jordan  hushed  his  waters  still 

When  man  to  Godlike  being  sprung 

When  prayer  delights  thee  least,  then  learn  to  say 

W'hen  Royal  Truth,  released  from  mortal  throes 

When  scorn,  and  hate,  and  bitter  envious  pride 

When  up  to  nightly  skies  we  gaze 

Wherefore  shrink,  and  say,  "  'Tis  vain 

Where  then  shall  hope  and  fear  their  objects  find 

Who  is  this,  with  garments  gory 

Who  loves  not  knowledge?    Who  shall  rail 

Who  yonder  on  the  desert  heath 

Why  art  Thou  not,  O  Saviour,  here  . 

Why  dost  thou  heap  up  wealth  which  thou  must  quit 

Why  for  thy  Lord  dost  thou  thus  weep  and  mourn 

Why  should  we  vex  our  foolish  minds 

Why  throbs  this  breast  ?    Why  heave  these  piteous  sighs 

Wide  the  compass  of  the  world 

Widely  midst  the  slumbering  nations 

Woman  of  pure  and  heaven-born  fame 

Workman  of  God  !  oh  lose  not  heart 

Work  while  it  is  called  to-day    . 

Yea,  watch  and  wait  a  little  while 

Ye  flaming  Powers,  and  winged  warriors  bright 

Ye  heavens,  oh  haste  your  dev.s  to  shed 

Ye  quenchless  stars  !  so  eloquently  bright 

Yet  if  his  majesty  our  sovereign  lord  . 

You  say,  but  with  no  touch  of  scorn  . 


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